


One

by grosslittlemonkey



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan/Reader - Freeform, Canon Death, Canon Divergence, Daddy Dutch, Dutch loves you, Extreme Pining, F/M, First Kisses, Future tags later, Growing up with the gang, John is basically your brother, Past Relationships, Period Typical Sexism, Possible Smut?, Reader begins as a child, Slow Burn, Swearing, Teenage Drama, Violence, best friend javier, did I say slow burn, idk how to tag, important things out of the way first, mentions of dead, mixed race reader, period typical racism, stay strong lol, very slow burn, you love Arthur morgan, you’ll grow up fast don’t worry ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 107,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosslittlemonkey/pseuds/grosslittlemonkey
Summary: For the past two decades, you’ve been loyal to Dutch van der Linde and his gang of outlaws. But as the years go by, it becomes apparent that this way of life is no longer livable, and Dutch’s dream of freedom is too far out of reach.As the age of the Wild West dies, you fight to survive side by side with Arthur Morgan, the one man who has always had your back.





	1. The Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just want you guys to know this is my very first work and it might suck! But I’m super excited to write this and put it out there.  
> Before you get into this, there are a few things to know. This takes place years before the the first chapter of RDR2. I will try my best to stick to canon stories regarding the gang’s past! I plan on writing on until the very end of the game as we know it. Please enjoy, and don’t be shy!! Critique is GREATLY appreciated!! Thank you so much  
> ALSO,, this work is greatly inspired by Johnny Cash’s cover of the song “One”, hence the title :-)

The day was still. Things were quiet.  


  
The sun was bright for once, the thick rain clouds finally having passed after visiting all week. The fields surrounding were bare after the early autumn harvest, and now replaced with puddles bordering ponds as they sat in the dips of the earth, leaving it all waterlogged. The breeze was almost cold, as expected of late October. But the way the sun was warm made up for it. The leaves were all gold and scarlet as they swayed in the wind, shaking what was unwanted to the ground. Geese honked and flew overhead, traveling south. All other wildlife was hidden away from the afternoon, resting their sleepy eyes. The barn wasn’t any different.  


  
The horses were mostly silent, besides the occasional shifting of hay or tired whinnies. Their tails whipped away any flies that dare linger so late in the season, and the dog lay out by the open barn door, head resting on its paws. However, despite the quiet, sleepy nature of the farm, there was excitement going on in places unexpected. Up in the loft, a mother cat had just finished giving birth to the last of the litter.  


  
She licked them all clean as they weakly, and blindly crawled to their mother’s belly, slow like slugs. The old, golden, stiff hay beneath the mother cat and her new kittens was now wet and bloodied, but the placenta was long gone and since eaten. A warm, soothing purr rumbled from the throat of the calico mother cat. Her rough tongue brought them breath and comfort as they fed. Five little wriggling kittens in a row, bodies damp and small.  


  
A girl lie there in the hay, watching the feline mother tend to her newborns. Her eyes were wide and curious, round with the innocence of youth. She was on her stomach, the fabric of her off-white dress twisted around her body, bloomers prickled with hay, hair unkempt. Dirt smudged her cheek and stained her fingertips. She’d watched the miracle of birth. For hours, she had been up in the loft, watching and listening as the mother cat squirmed, meowed, and pushed out each baby, one by one. It wasn’t much like horses, she realized. It was slower and more fragile in a way. It was gross to see, no doubt, like all birth was. But it was something she couldn’t look away from. Especially when the kitten’s mouths opened for their first breath of air, skin showing up pink through their thin coats. They’d grow up fast, they always did. She couldn’t wait to see their eyes when they opened. To hold them and feel their soft and colorful furs when they were ready. She was particularly drawn to the white kitten. The smallness of it caught her eye and she silently rooted it on until it found a tit to latch onto.  


  
She was only 13. Her youth still in place, the hand of her father still over her. She wasn’t yet ready to see the working world and suffer the reality of it, but old enough to know of it, and know it was waiting for her. And so while she wait, she learned of what she could, or of what she thought counted, anyway. The lessons of life, of family, of nature, of consequence. Her days were often spent either in the loft reading, carrying on with chores for her father, running amuck with her brothers, and getting acquainted with the wildlife as best as a young girl can. So here she was, watching the barn cat with her five babies. And she named each one of them already.  


  
Tommy, Timmy, Henry, Charley, and Todd. The names would have to change when she knew whether they were boys or girls, but for now, that’s what they shall be called. With a content smile, she nestled down further into the hay. Her eyes dropped down more and more, the sleepiness of the afternoon finally catching up to her. And at last, her lids fell shut, and sleep slowly, slowly, crept up upon her.  


  
Until it jumped back into hiding upon the sound of thundering hooves.  


  
Eyes wide open again, she scrambled up in the hay, crawling through the thick dusty piles of it until she reached the small, square loft window. She dared not get too close, as to not disturb the spiderwebs there. A small, chilling breeze blew in and tossed her loose hair about. Through the tangled strands, she saw three unfamiliar horses stopped at the porch of her house. There was man for each horse, all dressed in heavy black coats and even heavier looking boots. Gloves adorned their hands and hats upon their heads. Polished guns glistened at their hips.  


  
Knowing nothing but trust for strangers, and the shyness that came with youth, she simply watched with a judge-less and innocent stare. Her eyes followed the man who slipped off his horse and swaggered up to the door and knocked. She waited to see her father’s kind face at the other side of the door, but after several seconds, there was nothing. She knew he was inside. Did he not hear...?  


  
She jumped when the man delivered a hard kick to the front door, and it clattered to the floor. His gun was in his hand now, cocked, loaded, and aimed. The other two men were quick to rush inside. She could only cower silently and alone when her brothers and father were forced through the door moments later, lined up and put down on their knees in the grass. You could hear your father’s desperate pleading from the loft.  
“Please, please don’t do this! All I need is a little more time, and I’ll pay back what I owe! I swear, I will!”  


  
One of the men in Black slapped him across the face. Another put his gun to your oldest brother’s head.  


  
“We’ve given you six months, old man. That’s plenty of time to pay back your debt. We know you have money- hand it over, or we kill this varmint.”  


  
Your father weeps. “I told you, I don’t have anything! Search the house, see for yourself! I have nothing. We have nothing.”  


  
Whatever was said next, the girl could not hear. But she saw as one man hesitantly entered the house, and one moved towards the barn. Her heart was in her throat, confusion and fear paralyzing her. She held her breath as she listened to the dog bark and growl at the man before it yelped and fell into silence. The horses stirred. The floorboards creaked.  


  
The second oldest brother jumped up, and jumped for the stranger beside him.  


  
A gun sounded, and he fell to the ground.  


  
Her father screamed, and her other two brothers were instantly upon the one lying in the grass. Blood quickly pooled onto the ground.  


  
“Jesus, what was that for?” said the man who was in the barn. His voice was quick and loud, shoulders tense as he raced back outside.  


  
“Dumb son of a bitch tried to jump me!” he said. His gun was aimed at your family still.  


  
The other man left the house, holding a lock box. Her father kept screaming and crying.  


  
“Shut the old man up, will ya? I found this under the bed. Bastard was lying after all.”  


  
Her father slumped over like a doll when the butt of a rifle cracked across the back of his neck. The men looked at each other. The youngest boy was wailing. Her other brother sat still, hands pink.  


  
“Didn’t he have another brat running around here? A daughter?”  


  
“Beats the hell out of me-“  


  
Before he could finish his sentence, your little brother took off. His scream was so loud her ears rang, and the horses began squealing. The barn shook with the weight of their fear. One man loaded his gun and chased after the little boy. The other looked slowly up to the loft, and his eyes met hers before the man put him out with a swift kick to the head.


	2. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You flee into the woods to find your brother. But someone else finds you instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw, another chapter already. I don’t know often I’ll post, but I’ll try for once a week sorry for any spelling errors. I switch to “you” instead of “her” in this chapter, and it will be like that in the story for now on, unless you have a ‘memory’. Let me know what you think! Enjoy

Nightfall came fast.

  
It seemed like minutes ago you were out in the barn, watching kittens. But now the sun had long since set, and clouds had begun crawling back in from the corners of the dark sky. There was no moon or stars left to guide you as you blindly trudged through the woods. It was cold. It was scary, frightening, all alone. You were trying to find your brother.

  
After the bad man had hit your brother over the head, you hid yourself in the loose straw of the loft. Thankfully, not one of them thought to look through it. And they at least had the heart to leave the kittens alone.

  
You had stayed in the barn long after the men had left. You waited until the sun was just beginning to set before climbing down the ladder and visiting the bodies of your family. You fell to your knees in front of your father, clutching his clothes and hair. You begged him to wake up. But his body was frigid, and skin was pale. He was stiff. Half your brothers head was blown off. The other one wasn’t in much better shape than your father was. You threw up once you caught the stench of blood. You were too scared and shocked to be too sad about it at first.

  
When the body is stressed, one doesn’t tend to think rationally. And when you aren’t experienced, you don’t know what you’re doing. That was the case for you as you set out to find your youngest brother, Percy. You wandered through the forest in the direction he took off, calling after him like the lost child you were. It must have been two hours into your searching when you realized nothing looked familiar anymore. Everything was overgrown and there weren’t any clear paths to take. Hopelessness started to really settle in then, as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt, peering into the darkness with wide, horrified eyes. Percy wasn’t here. No one was here, no one but you.

  
Suddenly, you became hyper aware of every sound around you. The low, cooing of an owl. A quick upturn of leaves by some critter crawling by. Distant twigs snapping. Soft yipping of foxes. It had your head darting in every direction. Anyone of those sounds could actually be one of those men who killed your brothers and father. They’re back to get you too, and skin you alive. Cut your head off, sell your body, feed it to pigs, throw you in the river. Every awful thought came rushing to you at once, and out of pure, unadulterated terror, you screamed.

  
Birds flew up out the trees and squeaked, animals in the brush darted out of their hiding places. All the sudden commotion added to the fear rushing through you, and you dropped to your knees and cried even louder. Between your frightful screeching, you sobbed. You called out for you father, and your brothers. Called out for anyone besides those terrible men.

  
It seemed like you were there for forever. It was as if God had cursed the land to stay in eternal darkness, forbade the sun to ever rise again. The dark stayed, and it taunted you. Tortured you. You shook in your own skin like a half-drowned cat, staring back into the night with unblinking eyes. Your head and throat and eyes hurt from crying, but that didn’t stop the tears that continued to pour down your cheeks like a faucet. Snot and spit was all down your chin, but you really couldn’t feel it. You didn’t care. You just wanted to find help, or die, even. The night wouldn’t end. Sticks and loose rocks buried themselves into your knees further and further the longer you knelt there on the forest floor. Images of your brother’s head breaking apart into pieces in the air replayed over, and over in your mind.

  
When you heard distant shouting, you got to your feet and started screaming again. You didn’t know whether or not to run to the sound, or to flee from it. It could be those men. It could be your brother. It could be a good man.

  
You don’t know if there was a good man anymore. Not after today.

  
Too petrified to shut up, you kept screaming. Your throat began to sting and scrape with the force of it, and to make it worse, you started running. You didn’t want to trust whoever was out there. You took off in the opposite direction.

  
The voice behind you became louder and louder, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. The longer it went on, you came to realize that it was not just one voice, but two. The clatter of crushing limbs and leaves echoed after them. Your heart raced, knowing that they were faster than you. You couldn’t outrun them. Unable to see, you tripped over a fallen log and went tumbling head first into the ground.

  
The impact left you dizzy. Your head was spinning when you fought to stand up, stars clouding your vision. The adrenaline only fueled the rush, and you felt paralyzed. Your body wouldn’t listen to you when you asked it to move. Enslaved to injury, you were kept on the ground.

  
Before you could gain your bearings, you were encased in the warm yellow light of a lantern. Quickly, you looked over your shoulder, and made out a blurry dark figure behind the glare of the lamp. You heart raced in your ears and you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t even scream when the figure set the lantern down and slowly stepped over to you.

  
The moment you stare into those brown eyes, you knew you had no reason to be afraid. They bled nothing but kindness, sympathy, and fear. Fear for you. The man reached out a gentle hand towards you, showing he was no threat. His voice seemed to rumble in your chest and in that moment, it was all you could hear.

  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. His voice was low, and smooth like the flow of a creek. “I promise that I’m not going to hurt you. Please, come here. This is no place for a little girl like you. My name is Dutch, little one. I’m here to help you. Please, please come with me.”

  
Your mind screamed at you to run. To get away from this stranger. To believe that he’s no better than the men who killed your family. But your body ached to be held, to return to safety. And that’s what he was offering. As if without thought, you crawled towards him, and reached out to grasp the hand extended towards you. Immediately, he helped you over the log you had tripped on earlier, and lifted you up into his hold with one hand. In the other, he clutched the lantern and held out before him. He stood, and made his way back from where he came.

  
You don’t remember the last time you were held like this. The man who called himself Dutch had you cradled to his chest, your legs bracing his sides and your arms around his neck. It was much like how a mother carries her toddler on her hip. He was warm, so warm, and you easily sank into him. You couldn’t stop the sobs that left you.

  
“It’s okay now, girl,” he said, quiet and careful. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one moves super fast and is pretty short. I wrote it in one night. The next chapter will be longer, I promise


	3. A Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Dutch’s friends and tell him what happened. A certain boy catches your eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still figuring out how to work this site lol, bare with me.  
> Enjoy!!!

After breaching the forest, the pink light of early dawn was already slowly lighting up the sky. The air was crisp, and cold, as autumn usually was. Thick clouds were being chased away by the daylight, the wind carrying them off. Dew had left the ground slick, and cold. It wouldn’t be too long now until the first frost.

  
Still clinging to Dutch, you watch as the forest moved further and further away with each long-legged stride he took. Your eyes were dry of tears now. You were too tired to cry. A numbness had washed over you once Dutch took you into his arms. You could only think of how great it was to see the sky again, to get out of those woods. You didn’t think of Percy, or your father, and your brothers. In the moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, even if it was selfish. The smell of the dirt and cigarette smoke of Dutch’s clothes kept you grounded. He had you. He wasn’t going to hurt you.

  
You didn’t want to trust him this easily. But it was too easy to give into the part of you that wanted to.

  
His boots made deep tracks in the mud as he approached a trail. At the sound of voices, your whole body stiffened. You fought like a feral cat trying to escape the arms of a child, but Dutch only held you tighter.

  
“Hush, now, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared- they are my friends. That means they’re your friends too. We’re going to help you, okay? We’re gonna help you.”

  
He had turned out the lantern when he passed the last tree of the forest, so he had a free hand. Dutch gently pat your back, soothingly, and it was enough to calm you. If he said it was okay, it must be okay. But your head still buzzed with paranoia when the voices were suddenly all around you. With wild eyes, you looked over your shoulder to see what was going on.

  
There were three other people, and a large, humble looking wagon. You looked from face to face, analyzing each one of them. Anyone one of them could have been one of the bad men.

  
But you did not recognize any of the faces. There was an older man, with hair blonde like dry wheat. He had strong cheekbones, and a long face. His forehead creased as he looked you over. He held a lit lantern up, despite the growing daylight.

  
Beside him, was a woman. Her face was plain in a pretty way, her eyebrows light and small lips curved downward into a frown. Her brown hair was pinned up, bangs pushed out of the way of her heavily made-up eyes. Her dress was long and clean, unlike the other man’s clothes. You burned under her stare, and shifted your gaze to the last one.

  
It was a younger man. A much younger man, a boy, almost. He was tall, with broad shoulders, clothed heavier in layers. He was almost thin, and his eyes were shaded by his hat. There was a strength to his jaw, a handsomeness to his face that would have had you shy if it weren’t for the circumstance in which you met him. He was looking deeply at you, hands balled tight at his sides.

  
“My god, Dutch, it’s just a little girl,” the older man said, stepping closer to you. His face was pinched with worry. “What was she doing out there? Was she alone?”

  
Dutch’s baritone voice rumbled through you. “Yes, she was alone. I haven’t asked her any questions, poor thing was terrified. I figured I’d get her out of there first.”

  
“She’s probably no older than... than eleven or twelve.”

  
“I don’t know yet, Hosea. Susan, get me some blankets, she’s shaking like a leaf,” Dutch said. You didn’t even realize it until now. Your teeth clattered together like coins in a purse.

  
“Here, I’ll get her in the wagon, too, Dutch. I’ll find her something to eat-“

  
When the woman touched you, only a light brush on the shoulder, you wailed and clung even tighter onto Dutch. She backed off, a startled breath leaving her, before looking at Dutch, bewildered.

  
“Looks like the girl doesn’t want to let go,” the older man said. There was a humor in his voice. “They never do, huh, Susan?”

  
The woman scoffs, and turns to get a blanket. When she returns, her glare is fierce on the man. “This isn’t time for your jokes, Hosea.”

  
Dutch covers you tight in the blanket, and climbs into the back of the covered wagon. He sits down on a crate, putting you on his lap. You felt small in his hold, and safe. He was warm and you hoped he never let go. The blanket smelt like dust. The other people with him stood peering in. You ignored them.

  
“It’s okay now,” Dutch cooed, slouching over to get in closer to you. With wet eyes, you look back at him. “What’s your name, girl?”

  
You told him your name. It hurt to speak and it came out rusted and hoarse.

  
“Y/N,” he breathed, nodding his head. “Where do you live? Can you show us? Your parents are probably worried sick ‘bout you right now.”

  
Your heart sank. The memories of what happened came flooding back and could not be stopped. Your chest exploded with grief, the realization fully sinking in. Loud sobs shook your body, and Dutch embraced you and rocked you back and forth, whispering softly to you.

  
Through your tears and choking, you managed to tell him what happened. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. You wailed like a whipped child, your chin dripping and dimpled with sadness. Dutch listened intently, not looking away once as you told him about the kittens in the loft, the three evil men kicking down your door, then taking the box of your mother’s jewelry. His face remained even and still as you told him how your brother was shot, and how your dads body was cold and he wouldn’t wake up. How your other brother was just the same. How Percy ran off and how you tried to find him. How scared you were.

  
Dutch softly pet your hair, and nodded. His face was tight.

  
“How old are you, girl?” he asked, slowly.

  
“Thirteen,” you whispered. Your head throbbed and eyes were swollen.

  
He hid his shock. “Where is your house?”

  
“O-On... on the other side of the woods,” you choked out.

  
He nodded again. “Alright,” he said, “I know you’re scared, but we need to go back there and to get some of your belongings, okay? We’ll see if your brother came back.”

  
Fear ripped through you again. “What if- what if they’re back to get me?”

  
“I’m going to keep you safe, Y/N. You don’t worry about a thing.”

  
*****

  
Much to your dismay, Dutch left you in the back of the wagon as he sat up with the older man you’ve come to know as Hosea. He said he was helping him lead the horses. You knew it only took one person to do that. But you didn’t whine, and sat in the corner, folded in on yourself, wrapped in the blanket. Susan, the woman, and the boy, Arthur, were back there with you. Susan was patient with you as she spoke, trying to distract and entertain you with stories and boring rambling. You didn’t really listen, you were still in shock. As she carried on and on, your eyes drifted to Arthur.

  
He was writing in a leather bound journal, the ink of his pen bleeding with each bump and dip the carriage went over. He hadn’t said much of anything since you’ve been here, and part of you wished he was the one telling the stories. With the dawn blossoming into something brighter, you could get a better look at him. He took his hat off. He had dark blonde hair, and thick eyebrows. His bangs fell over his forehead as he look down into the journal on his lap, scribbling away. The movement of his pen hypnotized you, and you couldn’t look away. You’d almost entirely forgotten about Ms. Susan Grimshaw now, and your ears picked up on the sound of Dutch’s voice.

  
“I’m thinking it must have been some of Colm’s boys. That’s the only gang I know of around here that would do something like that- just kill a man and his children after raiding their house. Who knows what they would have done to that little girl.”

  
Hosea’s voice was heavy with thought. “It could have been. There’s really no telling, Dutch. There’s a lot of bad people who take advantage of the poor like that. It’s not right, I know it isn't. But we should be more concerned with making sure she’s okay. Does she have any family around we can take her to?”

  
No, you thought. Not for miles. You didn’t want to go there. You wanted to stay with Dutch, he saved you. He made you safe.

  
“I... I don’t know, I didn't think to ask. I’ll find out once we get to her house. The bodies are probably still there. I don’t want her to see them.”  
“We’ll keep her in the wagon.”

  


“She’ll have to.”

  
“How old did you say she was, Dutch? Twelve?”

  
“No, thirteen.”

  
“She’s awful little for being thirteen!”

  
“I know, I’m wondering if her father fed her right. She was terribly light.”

  
“I just can’t believe she had to see that,” Hosea sighed. “That’s.. nothing a child should go through.”

  
“She’s not alone, Hosea. We had to grow up fast. Arthur, too. Remember when we found him?”

  
“Dear god, how could I forget? The boy was a mess.”

  
At the mention of him, you looked up at his face. He was staring outside now, and you realized his eyes were a bright, vivid blue. You longed to know what he was thinking. To know who he really was.

  
You wondered who his parents were. What he was writing. Why he was with Dutch and Hosea and Susan. If he had a brother, or sister. If he missed anyone or saw death like you did. Already, you found yourself growing a fondness for him. It was comforting to know, just like Dutch said, that you are not alone. If anyone could understand, you felt that it would be this mysterious boy in front of you.

  
You didn’t realize that Ms. Grimshaw had stopped talking now. She was looking at you with heavy eyes, hands wringing in her lap.

  
If you were to stay here, with them, you’d have to shed yourself of all that innocence. The lifestyle they lived and preached was hard. Sometimes scary. And it was tough on a woman. To grow up in it, Susan couldn’t imagine. With a sigh, she sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening.

  
Let this girl be alright.


	4. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a heart, and shares it for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written from Arthur’s perspective, but used third-person pronouns. I only proofread this once, so ignore any errors lol. Enjoy!!!!

Arthur watched as Dutch and Hosea lowered the last body into the makeshift grave. His fingers were dark with dirt as he clutched his hat to his chest. Exhaustion hit him in waves. His bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, even though the morning was rather chilly. He’d helped dig three graves, one for each body that lay in the yard. The boy with the bullet hole in his head was a gruesome sight, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. Part of him was sad, another apathetic. Loosing family was always hard, but he didn’t know the girl very well. He didn’t know her family or if they were good people. So he kept his hat off, to pay these corpses some respect. For the sake of the girl.

  
After Dutch and Hosea pushed the dirt over the bodies, they wiped off their hands and nodded to each other. They had already searched the house, and Hosea helped Arthur collect the most important of things the girl would need to bring with her. The bag was full and heavy by the end of it. Giving into his thieving nature, he took a few pens and books into his satchel. She would have left them anyway.

  
Earlier, while they looked through the pantries and cupboards for food and other means, Arthur had become curious. Dutch and Hosea wore grim faces, almost like it pained them to be taking from the house. He wanted to know why, and if he should be feeling guilty about this. So he asked.

  
“I don’t want to take from the poor, Arthur,” Dutch said, his voice cross. “It goes against what I stand for.”

  
“Then why are you doing it?” Arthur asked. He was confused, but his tone came across as annoyed.

  
Hosea spoke up instead. “We are desperate, Arthur. And with another mouth to feed, we are going to need more provisions. It’s not a kind life we live.”

  
Arthur perked up, and scooped the last can of green beans off the shelf before turning around and facing the other two men. “What do you mean ‘another mouth to feed’? Are we keeping her?”

  
“Yes, we’re keeping her,” Dutch sighed, standing up straight from the bottom cabinets. “At least, until we run into some of her family. I asked before I left if she had anyone to go to, like a grandparent or aunt, but she said no. And I’m not about to turn her loose, either. I’ll keep her as long as she needs us. Just as we did with you, Arthur.”

  
He wrinkled his nose in slight distaste. She was so little. Wouldn’t that just weigh them down? Hosea seemed to notice, and gently slapped his shoulder with a knowing look. Arthur frowned.

  
“Her... family, out there, were murdered. By three men, over some money. I’m almost certain they’re some of Colm’s boys, with how... lawless and cruel they are. I never liked him so much. I don’t know why I operate with him,” Dutch said.

  
Arthur didn’t quite know what to say to that. It was sad, and unfortunate to have to die that way. But they should have known better than to make a deal with a gang like that. So instead, he only nodded, before asking: “Was her father good to her?”

  
Dutch paused in thought. He shrugged, looking tired. “I have no idea. I can only hope so.”

  
“She’s thirteen, Dutch. You saw how small she was. I think... I think something’s wrong there,” Hosea interjected. Worry knit his brows together as he stare hard at his friend.

  
“I know, Hosea, I know. But we can’t be sure. All children grow at different rates. I guess all we can do is ask her.”

  
Arthur was met with surprise. He wouldn’t have ever guessed her to be thirteen. She looked like a nine year old. He didn’t really think too much of it though, because like Dutch said, kids grow different. She’d be okay if they kept her fed.

  
The raid was finished quickly, since there wasn’t a lot to take. Which led them here, to burying bodies of the girl’s family, after he collected her stuff. As the last of the dirt was placed over them, Arthur could hear the prickly voice of Miss Grimshaw. She was rambling on again, louder now this time. He knew why; she didn’t want Y/N to hear them putting her family into the ground. His heart twinged a bit at that, though he wasn’t too sure why. He hoped her father loved her. Her brothers, too. Nothing hurt more than being unloved. Even death.

  
When Arthur climbed back into the wagon, he looked over Y/N. She looked ghostly pale, eyes hardened and sad as she stare right past Miss Grimshaw. He sucked in a breath, wiped his hands off on his trousers, and reached into his satchel. He felt bad as he pulled out a book of fables. He was going to keep it for himself. But he figured maybe she needed it more than he did. Sometimes, Miss Grimshaw made things worse.

  
He sat down next to Y/N, and she recoiled slightly. She didn’t look his way. He settled in closer to her, and his eyes met Miss Grimshaw’s, and they shared a nod. She dismissed herself once the wagon lurched forward, turning to dig up a sewing kit.

  
Arthur shyly put an arm around her shoulders. He noticed how she tensed up at first, but he took no offense. Gently, he pat her arm, then put the book down against his knee and opened it.

  
“Now, uh, I hope you don’t mind,” he began, “but I took some of the books found in your room. I was thinking, I could read... to you.”

  
The girl slowly looked up a him. The blanket was cozy up to her chin, the rest of her little body hidden away. She nodded.

  
“It’s fine,” she said, so quiet he could barely hear her. “Go ahead.”

  
He looked to the page, and suddenly became hyper aware of how terrible his reading skills were. How his voice would crack, and squeak. His cheeks burned and he suddenly regretted his decision to save her from Miss Grimshaw. But, he cleared his throat, and began to read out loud.

  
Along the way, Miss Grimshaw filled in words that he didn’t quite know how to pronounce, without even looking at the page. It was hard not to get frustrated at himself for how awful he sounded, but he kept his head on straight for the girl. He hoped she didn’t care. His heart jumped in his chest when he felt her lean into him, her head landing against his shoulder. Her warmth leaked into him, and he began to blush, much to his dismay.

  
When he reached the end of the page several minutes later, before he could resume reading, she spoke up quietly.

  
“I know you buried them.”

  
Arthur swallowed dryly. He blinked, and looked down at her awkwardly. At first, he didn’t quite know how to respond. He nodded once, fingers fumbling at the page.

  
“They didn’t deserve to die like that,” he whispered quietly.

  
“No,” she replied, just as soft, “they didn’t. I... I loved my Papa. Ivor, Warren, E-Everett, and Percy, too. I-I-I.... I can’t believe... th-they’re gone.”

  
Arthur frowned at the sound of tears in her voice. He didn’t want to feel for the girl, he really didn’t. He didn’t feel nearly as bad as he did now when he was out there shoveling shallow graves. He was supposed to be a tough, young, heartless outlaw. At least, that’s what he wanted to be. But hazy memories of his own mother, and even his father, came drifting into the front of his mind. He understood.

  
He wrapped his arm tighter around the girl. He felt her begin to tremble with another crying fit. Arthur sighed, and creased the corner of the page before closing the book and setting it on the floor. As Y/N softly cried into him, he conjured up something to say.

  
“I... I know,” he began awkwardly, “Losing a loved one is hard... I lost my momma when I was real young. I miss her. My father wasn’t any.. wasn’t any good. But, I’ve found some good people since they’ve gone. Dutch, Hosea, and Miss Grimshaw, they’re all good people. And they’ll take care of you. Whatever you need, they’ll have it. And I will, too. You’ve got us, kid. For as long as you need us, and more.”

  
She shifted against him, cuddling up deeper against his side. Her sobbing subsided now, but Arthur could still see fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. He hoped he said the right thing; the silence she gave him made him self-conscious. But much to his relief, moments later, she spoke up.

  
“Arthur,” she breathed, looking up at him, “Th-thank you.”

  
His fingers curled into the blanket around her shoulder. He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  
For the rest of the ride back to camp, he no longer felt awkward or shy as he did earlier. She was only scared, sad, and hungry for comfort. And he was providing that as best she could. In a way, she already had him wrapped around her finger. He felt a small, subtle connection growing between them and he let it stay. He’d need a friend in this life. He’d let it be her. That connection only grew stronger and stronger as she fell asleep against him. Her breaths were deep and quiet, and he was thankful she was able to sleep. Miss Grimshaw was silently sewing away at the holes in one of Dutch’s shirts, paying them no mind. He looked from the woman, to the world outside. The warm light of the morning bathed everything in gold, the mist making everything look like a dream. A buck and doe leaped across the path behind them. The world seemed to be at peace. He knew that it never really was, though. But it was easy to accept for now as his heartbeat steadied, slow and gentle.

  
He knew, in this brief moment, she would become something very important to him.


	5. The Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories haunt you, and Dutch is there to help you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to emphasize a father/daughter-like relationship here lol. Dutch isn’t a creepy old man yet

Wind brushed against the white canvas of the tent, and it noisily flapped at the contact. Your eyes followed the movement in the dark. Your nerves buzzed with fear, and paranoia at every shift, sound, and shadow. You begged for sleep to take you; your eyes stung and brain was heavy, but your body wouldn’t let you rest. You shivered and twitched. Small, senseless thoughts rapidly snowballed into fear-inducing ideas. The sight of your family dying didn’t seem real, yet it kept replaying over and over in your head. It wouldn’t leave.

  
Dutch had let you sleep on his cot. When you had arrived at the little camp earlier that day, it was around noon and you were tired. Being with Arthur made it easy to give in to your exhaustion. But once you were up, it was hard to go back to sleep. You were too nervous, and followed Dutch around like his shadow. He let you hold his hand. It was rough and dirty, but warm. He held yours back firmly, and didn’t let go until you did. He gave you peaches and bread to eat, and you forced it down despite not being very hungry. As Arthur and Hosea worked with the horses, Dutch sat you down and talked. He talked for a long time, and you tried your best to listen. He talked to you about freedom, and how he wanted to help people all over achieve it. How he was planning to head west and make a life there, for everyone. It sounded nice, and you mostly understood until he became too passionate and began rambling on about the government. But it all sounded important, and you thought that your father would probably know what he was talking about and agree with him. So you nodded along until he smiled warmly at you and asked if you’d like to help set up a tent of your own. You agreed, and it took awhile but you learned how to make one. It was small and just right for you, placed along side the old wagon. Arthur helped you stuff it full of blankets and put some of your clothes in there for you. Afterwards, Dutch took you up again and asked you questions about what you liked to do, and if you went to school or knew how to read and write. You told him that you liked to play outside and learn when you could, and that you could indeed read and write. You’d only learned just a few years ago. He seemed elated, and told you he’d keep you on your toes. He gifted you a journal like Arthur’s and a stick of charcoal. You mindlessly doodled and practiced your signature while he settled down to read. And it was like that until sundown, and everyone ate dinner quietly. You protested defiantly when Dutch said it was time for bed, so he let you stay in his tent for the night.

  
You did not regret it. You just didn’t know you’d be this afraid. You hated it.

  
Slowly, you turned your head to look at Dutch. He was sleeping soundly on a bedroll he’d laid out on the ground, his back facing you. He snored quietly. You could only see him by the light of a single candle that flickered lowly in the corner of the tent on his desk.

  
You felt small in the cot alone. And not in the good way, like you had when Dutch held you. You felt small in the way a rabbit does when the hound has it cornered, or small like a field mouse between the talons of a hawk. Once again, tears threatened to fall. You felt alone, and scared. You knew you shouldn’t be, because like Arthur said, you were never alone. Not with your new friends around. But you couldn’t help it. The feeling wouldn’t go away.

  
Carefully, you sat up from your cot. Your heart hammered in your chest and your mouth suddenly went dry. You stood, slowly, as to not make a sound. Your feet carried you across the ground until Dutch lie at your feet. You could feel the heat of his sleeping body, being so close. With a nervous gulp, you dropped to your knees, and slipped beneath his blanket. You curled against his back, his shoulders steadily rising and falling. His warmth was immediately comforting, and you felt some of your fears vanish in the close presence of him. You pressed your cheek against the broad expanse of his back, fingers curling at your chest. Eyes unblinking, you stare hard at the wavering spot of orange light on the ceiling of the tent.

  
You quickly became wrapped up in your own thoughts. There was the constant worry and grief of loosing your father, and your brothers. You wondered if Percy was still alive, or if he got away. Or if someone kind enough like Dutch had found him and took him in. Maybe they were looking for you. And maybe those three men who came riding in with those black hats and fancy guns were hung by now, facing the wrath of God in hell. And maybe your Papa and Ivor and Everett were smiling down at you from heaven, halos glowing just like their wings. You hoped Percy was still walking here on earth. You felt better picturing him sitting at a wooden dining table in a cozy fire-lit home eating a big bowl of hearty soup, with a plump old woman and her farmer husband. That’s what he deserved. You hoped that’s where he was. You thought about how your life would be different forever now, with Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, and Miss Grimshaw. And you thought heavily on what Dutch said about freedom and about what Arthur said on the wagon. You decided that this is where God led you, to these kind people. You wanted Dutch’s freedom and Arthur’s friendship. Hosea’s, too. You weren’t sure about the woman. She bored you.

  
You were startled out of your thoughts by the low croak of Dutch’s voice.

  
“Y/N?” he asked, voice groggy with sleep.

  
You froze. Guilt, embarrassment, and nervousness left your body stiff as your eyes shot to the strong outline of Dutch’s face. You didn’t move or pull away, but you answered him.

  
“Yes,” you quietly replied.

  
Dutch shifted, turning onto his side to face you, and you coiled into yourself. You could see the curl of a smile on the corner of his lip and a dimple in his cheek when he looked down at you, and you didn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. Gently, his arm circled around you like Shepard holds a lost little lamb, and brought you to his chest. Your cheeks warmed, but not with embarrassment, but with the realization that Arthur was right.

  
“Looks like the little critter was trying to steal my blankets,” he said. His tone was void of judgement, or anger. He regarded you like a father does his child.

  
You looked away from his face, too shy to say anything. He softly pet your ratty hair.

  
“Are you alright?” he asked, and you could hear the genuine concern in his voice. It made your chest twinge with a slight sadness, and it had you ducking into him.

  
“I... I’m scared,” you whispered. You hated how weak you sounded.

  
He paused for a moment, before the rumble of his voice vibrated in his chest again. You relished the feeling; it reminded you of when you were younger, and you and your brothers would kitten pile onto your father as he read you all to sleep. You missed him already.

  
“I know,” he said gingerly, “and rightly so. It’s been a long day, Y/N. You saw things no child was even meant to see. But I’ll tell you what- you are safe. You’re safe here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, not now, not ever. You run with us as long as you have to, girl. I’ll have your back. I’ll make sure you’re always okay.”

  
You swallowed back your tears. You’ve heard it so many times today already, but each time it hit harder and harder. Here, you’d have your own little ragtag family. You’d be okay, and in Dutch’s arms, you felt safer than you ever have before. You felt small again, but in a good way this time. Like a sleeping infant in the arms of its doting mother. You nodded against Dutch’s chest, and closed your eyes. You had nothing to fear in that moment. The sound of his heartbeat slowly, slowly lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! These beginning chapters might seem boring and I’m sorry. But building a relationship with the other characters (Dutch, Hosea, etc.) becomes critically important later in the story for obvious reasons lol. More Arthur content is coming I promise


	6. Gunslinging 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur helps teach you how to shoot, but he doesn’t have the brightest ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a month-long time skip from the previous chapter to this one, just to clear up any possible confusion. Enjoy some fun with babie Arthur!!

“Here, hold the gun with two hands at first. You’re not used to the weight yet, so if you use one hand, it’ll be too shaky and your shot’ll be off. Be sure to shoot on the exhale. Don’t overthink it, though.”

  
You did as he said, and clasped two hands around the pistol. Your tongue caught your upper lip, and you squinted one eye, before squeezing the trigger once your lungs were empty. The green bottle on the fence shattered, and the pop of the gun echoed through the woods.

  
It was November now, and the air was getting colder and colder by the day. Every morning, the grass was stiff and sparkling with frost, and the air was crisper. The warm vivid hues in the trees gradually faded out to brown as the leaves died and sank to the ground. Animals of all kinds were rushing to be fed and to be full before winter came to lock them in for the season. The first snowfall would be just around the corner.

  
You’d been with Dutch and his friends for about a month at that point. You’d been with them long enough to know who they really were and what they did, and you quickly grew to understand and accept it. Dutch preached often about how money made people heartless, and how the rich didn’t need as much as they had. And stealing was often a punishment to the burquoise, and a reward for the poor. It made since to you, but sometimes you did feel guilty when they’d come home with their pockets full of stolen pennies or jewelry, sometimes something more. And you learned that their guns weren’t just for hunting. Miss Grimshaw had told you that one. She said sometimes when bad men came around and did bad things without a good reason, the only way to stop them was with a gun. It scared you, at first, the idea of killing someone. You’d been shy of guns and loud noises ever sense you’d watched your brother’s brains get blown out, but once you saw how Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea paraded around with a full holster at their hip, you decided it was time to overcome your fear. Dutch often told you that in order to move on, one most push themselves past the limits they let fear create. So when you asked him to teach you how to shoot one, he was taking every spare moment of his time to get a firearm in your hands. And he’d let you shoot his rifle and feel the kickback, and shoot his revolver at a tree. The sound of the bullet cracking through the gun scared you each time, but he led you through the fear. But unfortunately, he couldn’t always be there to teach you. So, you had asked Arthur to help you while Dutch was away with Hosea.

  
“Not too bad,” Arthur said, setting up another bottle. “Let’s see if you can get this one on your fourth bullet this time.”

  
He was teasing you, you knew. But you still gave him a look. “How about I make you my target?”

  
He laughed, and it was a deep sound that made you smile despite yourself. “Oh, go ahead,” he says, waving a hand as he moves to get behind you, “I wouldn’t be worried one bit.”

  
“Then that should tell you something about yourself, seeing as you’re teaching me.”

  
“Dutch has done most of the work so far, so don’t go blaming your mistakes on me.”

  
You grin shyly and shake your head. Arthur steps behind you, and puts his hands on your shoulders to steer you in the right direction. He reaches out and guides your right elbow up, and holds it there until you’re able to keep still. Then, he steps back, nods to himself, and says: “Fire!”

  
You pull the trigger immediately, and the loud blast of the gun rings out through the forest. The bottle explodes, and drops to the floor.

  
Your jaw drops, and your eyes go wide as you stare at the ghost of the bottle. Your ears were ringing, but that didn’t even matter. Excitement bubbled up in your chest and you jumped up and down, the gun at your side. You had managed to get it on the first shot this time!

  
“Arthur!” you squeaked, turning on your heel and grinning, “I did it! I shot the bottle, first try!”

  
He was smiling, lips pulled back in a happy, genuine grin. He chuckled and clapped his hands as he approached you.

  
“Good job, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he said. You let him take the gun from your hands. “I thought you were a lost cause.”

  
You gasped and shoved his shoulder, to which he only laughed at. It made you smile. For the month you’ve been around, Arthur didn’t seem very chipper. He didn’t laugh or smile much, and Hosea tried very hard to get him to lighten up. You’d gotten a little closer to him, to where it wasn’t awkward to be alone with him and you weren’t shy about starting conversation. He was quickly becoming a friend. So it was nice to see him seem so carefree.

  
“Where are we you going?” you asked once he started walking further into the woods. You followed after him, plucking your skirt free from brambles and bushes. He walked right past the old fence posts you were practicing on.

  
“There’s a tree up here,” he answered, craning his neck to look past the mess of bare tree limbs, “that has a bee hive hanging off of it.”

  
You paled. “Arthur, I am not shooting a bee hive,” you hissed.

  
“Calm down,” he mused, looking over his shoulder at you, “it’s old. Nothing’s in it.”

  
“How would you know? What if they’re still in there!”

  
“I guess we’ll find out.”

  
You didn’t want to risk it, but you didn’t want Arthur to leave you out here all alone, either. So with a pout, you followed after him, leaping over rocks, logs, and roots until he stopped. He looked up at the tree with a smile, before turning to you.

  
“See it up there?” he asked, pointing upwards.

  
You looked up and scanned the half-naked branches of the giant oak tree, but found nothing. You shook your head.   
“Here,” he said, handing you the gun before stepping behind you again. He pointed over your shoulder into the tree. “Follow my finger.”

  
“I’m not seeing anything.”

  
He sighed, then placed his hands on both sides of your head. His fingertips brushed over your ears and he pointed your head up roughly. You couldn’t help but giggle, it felt strange to have someone make you look.

  
“Do you see a weird grey lump hanging from that limb?”he asked. He sounded impatient, but you knew he really wasn’t.

  
Your eyes caught onto a strange, twisted mass up on a gnarled branch. You’d never really seen a bee hive before, but you knew what a bee sting felt like. It was a muddy grey color, and it looked like it was made from paper.

  
“Ew, yeah,” you whispered, fixated on the hive. “You sure it’s abandoned?”

  
Arthur let go of your head and shrugged. “I think bees die when it’s cold.”

  
You looked at him, confused. “I thought they hibernated, like bears do.”

  
“The hell if I know. But I want you to shoot it.”

  
“Arthur, what if they’re still in there?”

  
“They won’t be.”

  
“Yeah, after I blow a hole in it, maybe,” you growled.

  
He shook his head. “Make sure you’re loaded, and cock it. If there’s bees, we’ll run for cover. They can’t be that smart to know we shot ‘em.”

  
“Don’t underestimate bees.”

  
“Maybe I’m overestimating your shot, and you won’t actually hit it.”

  
That set something off in you, and you frowned. You checked the chamber, then took a step back. You kept your feet apart, and held the gun in both hands. With your thumb, you cocked back the hammer on the old Colt Model revolver, then settled your index finger on the trigger. You sucked in a deep breath to steady yourself, then let it all out slowly. You closed one eye, pointed the gun up on the hive and shot.

  
It took you two shots to get it down.

  
A massive hunk of the hive dropped to the forest floor, and that’s when you realized your mistake.

  
A dark swarm of bees began loudly buzzing, streaming from their destroyed home and into the air. It seemed like there were hundreds, more and more kept coming out and you nearly screamed. It was only about six feet away from you, and the moment they began flying your way, you clutched the gun and ran.

  
“Shit!” Arthur shouted, and held his hat over his head as he followed after you. His steps were heavy, and he plowed through everything in his way.

  
With the gun in one hand and your skirt in the other, you tore through the woods like a deer with a dog hot on its tail. It took everything you had not to keep screaming, so you bit down hard on your lip and heaved through your nose.

  
“Goddammit I thought bees died when the frost came!” Arthur yelled. He was storming after you, which only fueled your fear.

  
“They’re not flowers,” you shot back. Your voice shook as you run.

  
“Obviously n-,” Arthur couldn’t finish his sentence before he tripped, sending him tumbling down hill between the trees and bushes. His body stirred up leaves and they flew out in his wake like waves, and you could only watch as he went. You slowed to a jog, forgetting all about the bees, and went rushing over to him once he stopped.

  
“Arthur, oh my god, are you alright?!” you asked, dropping the revolver and kneeling down next to him. He was flat on his back, hat settled in the leaves a few feet away.

  
“I’m- Im fine,” he wheezed, then coughed hard. “Just, just t-took a tumble, is all.”

  
You looked over him once, then helped him sit up. He gasped and rubbed at his chest once he was up. “You didn’t break anything, did you? Are you hurt?”

  
“Well no shit, I’m hurt, but I don’t think I broke anything. I’m just a bit banged up, I’m fine.”

  
“Let me help you up,” you said, and stood to your feet. He gave you his hands and you nearly collapsed at the sudden weight of him as he used you as leverage to get up. You were not that strong, and were suddenly reminded of how small you actually were.

  
“Goddamn those stupid bees,” he groaned, wiping the leaves off his jacket.

  
You plucked one from his sandy blonde hair. The silliness of the situation fully registered with you, and you suddenly laughed, loud and hard. Arthur stare down at you, eyes slightly judging and confused.

  
“What you laughin’ at? Something on me?” he asked, patting his face.

  
“No,” you panted between laughter, “the-the bees- you went crashing down-!”

  
He snorted and shook his head before bending down to snatch up his hat and the gun. “Well if you didn’t take off all scared like that, I wouldn’t have almost cracked my head open on a tree!”

  
Your stomach hurt from laughing so hard, and you doubled over, hands on your stomach. “Y-Yeah, sure! You were runnin’ like a prairie on fire, you big scaredy-cat! You were just as frightened as I was!”

  
He blushed, shoving his hat on his head and pulling the brim down over his face. “Shut up. I was coming after you... to make sure you wouldn’t run into a.. a bear trap or something.”

  
“Oh sure, Arthur, sure- w-wait, hey, where are you going? Don’t leave me here by myself!”

  
“It _ain’t_ funny.”


	7. To Forgive: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes without trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)

Over the next few weeks, the weather got colder and colder. The sun didn’t shine as much anymore, and the blue of the sky was often hidden behind grey clouds thick with winter rain, waiting to turn to snow. Most, if not all, leaves had dropped by this point. December was just around the corner, waiting to create havoc. The first frost had come and gone long ago. The wilderness was getting quieter and quieter as it prepared for the chill of the next season.

  
However, as cold as the weather was becoming, your heart was thawing. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and even Miss Grimshaw showed you abundant and unconditional kindness. They grew on you quickly, and Dutch came very much something like a father to you. You liked to hear him talk, and he would often sit with you for hours, teaching and preaching. You caught on to his big words and passion, and soon found it to be your own. He’d lend you his books and help you write, and looked over you like a child of his own. Hosea did too, and for that you were grateful. Dutch was a good few years younger than him, so his firm and wise hand often helped steer you in the right way. He was good at talking too, and he always managed to make you smile. He taught you the differences between certain herbs and the names of certain trees and how to care for the horses. Miss Grimshaw was always trying to get you to learn manners and settle for more lady-like things, such as sewing and washing. Which you did, of course. But it wasn’t ever really fun. She liked to complain, you noticed, and was very controlling. You don’t know why Dutch had the eye for her, she was bitter and unpleasant sometimes. But you admired her spirit and hardworking nature. It was one thing you wished to take from her.

  
Arthur, however, became a good friend to you. As much he saw Hosea and Dutch the same way you did, you could never find a sibling-like bond with him. It was different to be around him than it was with your brothers when you had them. There was a different air with him, and a fondness you’ve never felt before with anyone. You admired him, how he spoke, how well he could draw, and how sharp of a shooter he was. Like Hosea, he always managed to make you giggle or wriggle you free from a bad mood. Despite his youthful rage and sometimes rather violent ways, you liked him. Whenever you both had free time apart from learning, chores, or personal escapades, you found each other and set off to cause trouble or pass the time. You found that Arthur was shy about his younger years, and much rather talk about the now and hunting, and robbing, and things of the like. It never bothered you much. He was your closest friend.

  
He had found you in the early afternoon. You had just finished up washing some dishes per Miss Grimshaw’s request when he asked if you’d like to go for a walk with him. He was peeling apart a dry twig, eyes down when he spoke. You nodded, wiped your hands dry on your skirt, and put on your coat before heading off with him.

  
The two other men had gone off to town in search of some kind of lead. Dutch had been talking about needing money to get through the coming winter. He said it was supposed to be rough. His and Hosea’s absence left you and Arthur alone with Miss Grimshaw, and like usual, she sent you both off with a list of chores to do around camp. But she was napping now, snoring loud and hard in her tent.

  
Arthur’s legs were much longer than yours, and it was hard to keep up with him as you walked. He didn’t say much, he was never really a big talker. But he seemed wrapped up in his thoughts, more so than usual. But you said nothing, and walked by him in silence. The two of you found the edge of the woods, and took to walking along the border between the trees and long grass of the field. It was yellowed and stiff, wilted and almost flat to the ground. But the color was pretty, you thought. You watched for scampering voles between the curls of grass.

  
After a few minutes of walking, Arthur sighed. It was a heavy sound, and immediately caught your attention. You looked over his face. It was tight; his jaw was set and eyes were cloudy. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows were drawn together with a crease. It was then you noticed the heavy feeling he left in the air around him.

  
“What’cha thinkin’, Arthur?” you asked softly. He caught your gaze for a moment before shaking his head and lowering his hat.

  
“It’s nothin’,” he replied, even though it obviously was something.

  
“You know you don’t gotta be shy with me,” you said, eyes on the ground as you watched your boots trample the dying plants. “I’m not gonna poke fun, or nothin’.”

  
“You say that, but you always do,” he growled. His steps became heavier. “It’s just stupid anyway. Forget it.”

  
A part of you wilted at his hostile tone. He wiped at his face and hurried along, but you skipped up to stay on pace with him. Arthur didn’t look at you, and instead kept his gaze forward.

  
“Arthur,” you whined, “I’m your friend. Don’t... don’t be mad at me. I only wanna help you.”

  
“I never said nothin’ about needing, or wantin’ help,” he snapped.

  
His bitter remark had you shocked. You recoiled, and blinked up at the sky for a moment. Guilt and shame burned at the back of your mind for upsetting him. Was it your fault he was like this? Surely it wouldn’t be, he wouldn’t have asked you to walk with him if that was the case. Unless he was taking you away from the camp to beat you. Quickly, you pushed that frightening thought away. Arthur was too kind to you to do that.

  
“Well,” you mumbled, purposely slowing your step, “I’ll listen when you decide to talk.”

  
He only shook his head and walked on, even when you knelt down to pluck a long stalk of dry grass. Leisurely you walked, one foot in front of the other, as you plucked at the seeded head of the plant. You didn’t like to be around Arthur when he was in these moods. Maybe that was childish. You never knew what his problem was, he never talked about it. You’ve never even heard him confide in Hosea or Dutch, but maybe that’s because you were around. Maybe he was embarrassed. With a sigh, you dropped the ruined grass and watched Arthur as he continued on ahead of you.

  
He had a prowling walk. You eyes followed the way his shoulders swayed and back hunched, hands in fists at his side. He even moved like he was angry. When he was in a small fit once, during the second week you were there, Miss Grimshaw told you it was a pride thing. Something only “bullheaded young boys” dealt with. But you never liked to believe her. You thought Arthur was smart and rational. On most days. Sometimes his ideas weren’t the brightest. There had to be more to his rage than just being a dumb kid. You sighed heavily, and looked into the tree line.

  
It was like that for several, several minutes. Arthur keeping quiet, ignoring you, but never telling you to go away. And you, keeping your distance, but following after him. You didn’t have a clue what his destination was. Maybe he didn’t either. But you knew your way back to camp for the most part, so you kept going.

  
The soft sound of flowing water caught your attention. You looked up from the ground and saw, a few yards ahead of you, the bank of a creek. It was rocky where land met the water, massive rocks that could almost qualify as boulders lay out on the water’s edge. Arthur settled himself down on one, and you did the same.

  
The creek water was low, and Brown. There were no fish swimming that you could see, and the movement of it was slow and content. It was cooler down closer to the water.

  
“Pretty spot,” you said, breaking the silence.  


  
“Then be quiet and let me enjoy it.”

  
It was hard to keep your temper down. “Why are you bein’ such an ass, Arthur?”

  
“You wouldn’t get it,” he barked coldly, grimacing. “Leave me alone about it.”

  
“Oh, sure, Arthur,” you growled, finally giving into your own anger, “you’re not the only one whose got reasons to be upset. You go about it like ain’t no one wants to help you, or that they can’t. What’s wrong, Arthur? It’s not hard to just... just talk.”

  
He stiffened, and you saw red rise up from underneath his collar, to his cheeks. His lips were pressed into a hard, thin line, and his fists shook.

  
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” he spat, “I ain’t gonna listen to some _damn_ little girl.”

  
For a moment, you felt cold. Your eyes grew wide and you stared hard at Arthur in shock. He had been so kind to you before; why was he so mean all the sudden? You sucked in a breath as not to cry, and stood up. Words churned over and over in your head until you found the right ones to say, and when you did, they oozed venom.

  
“I haven’t done one thing wrong to you, and you’re treating me like I ruined your life. I been kind, Arthur. You said you would be. Don’t make yourself a liar.”

  
“I ain’t ever said I was gonna be kind. Or treat you like some princess.”

  
“You- you said you were gonna _help_ me! You said you had my back, the first night I ever met you. You were nice to me then. What did I do to deserve this from you?”

  
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you were scared. Hellfire burnt in his eyes that had you taking a few steps back. “I only said that ‘cause I took pity on you. Had I known you’d be such a... demanding, selfish, goddamn _brat_ , I wouldn’t have said a thing.”

  
Tears stung your eyes. “I... I-I can’t believe you, Arthur,” you hissed, clutching your skirts and turning to march away from him.

  
“Yeah, go on! Go cry to Daddy Dutch about how I hurt your fragile little feelings!”

  
You stopped dead in your tracks before facing him again. “Is that what this is about? Dutch?”

  
“Oh, sure! It’s about Dutch as much as it’s about you.”

  
You crossed your arms, red-hot anger boiling your blood. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  
“He’s always with you. Fussin’ over you like some goddamn hopeless baby. You can’t even walk straight without Dutch holdin’ your hand. It’s like you’re his pet, and nothin’ else matters outside of you.”

  
You laughed dryly. It was so stupid was he was saying, no wonder Miss Grimshaw called him things like stupid, bullheaded, and ignorant. “That is real pathetic, Arthur.”

  
“Oh, I know it is!” he said, standing up and waving an arm at you. “The only reason Dutch puts up with you is _because_ you’re _pathetic_. He likes how hopeless you are, it’s a game to him.”

  
“How-How could you say that about him?!” you shouted, face going red. “He’s your ‘Daddy’ as much as he is mine!”

  
“Well he don’t treat me like a-”

  
“Goddamn you to _hell_ , Arthur Morgan!” you screamed, cutting him off completely. You turned back around and ran up the hill, away from him. Tears streamed hard down your face and you felt ugly for crying like this, with your lip quivering and cheeks burning. You ran as fast as you could.

  
The moment you got back to camp, you hid yourself away in your tent. You knotted the entrance flaps shut and buried your face into your pillow, sobbing hard and loud. Your chest ached with grief, anger, and disgust.

  
Had what Arthur said really been true? Did he only spend time with you because he pitied you? Did Dutch only see you as a lost, scared little girl and nothing more? What did Hosea think? Miss Grimshaw must certainly think you’re a useless little wench then, who can’t sew right, or cook well, or clean up properly. Did any of them actually want to help you? Were they all lying to you? Have they been talking behind your back for the month you’ve been here with them? You only cried harder as the worst of the worst went through your mind, and you wished those three bad men had found you and killed you too. It would be easier than be a burden, or a waste of time and space. You cried, and cried until you were too tired to think anymore, and fell asleep.


	8. To Forgive: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amends are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s not too much info about Arthur’s parents, so I filled in as I saw fit  
> Thank you!!!

Arthur sat at the camp, whittling mindlessly at a stick in front of the fire. His mind was other places as he scraped and cut at the dry wood, and his thumb was pricked and sore from all the times he had accidentally nicked himself. In the fire pit, flames crackled and sparked beneath the round black cast iron pot situated above it. The warm, hearty smell of stew was just beginning to waft into the chilly evening air.

  
Arthur kept thinking back on what had happened earlier that day. He felt guilty, he knew that for sure. The sound of his own voice snapping, and the betrayed look on your face kept resurfacing in his head and making him cringe in pain. Regret weighed down heavily on his shoulders. Ways of how it could have gone differently swam around in his mind. That was not the purpose of the walk; he didn’t want to lash out at you like that. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He had wanted to talk. Talk about his thoughts with you. But the moment he started feeling vulnerable, and open, a deep and vicious part of him clawed it’s way up his throat and made all that come out. It’s like he couldn’t express himself how he wanted. He couldn’t let himself do it.

  
He had considered apologizing. But when he made it back to camp a while after you left, he couldn’t find you in your usual hiding spots. Beneath the biggest pine tree at camp, or tucked away behind a few boulders. He came to the conclusion you were holed up in your tent, and as he approached that wall of white canvas, his palms began to sweat. He felt far too guilty to look at you, and he imagined how you’d react if he asked you to come out, or if he let himself in. He’d certainly lose all your respect, if you had any for him at all still. So he sighed, and wandered off to the campfire where Miss Grimshaw was cooking dinner.

  
“What’s got you looking so down, boy?” she asked when she came back around with a spoon to stir the stew.

  
“Nothin’,” Arthur grumbled. He didn’t meet her gaze. “Just tired.”  
Miss Grimshaw stood tall and put her hands on her hips, spoon lost in the pot. Her eyebrows rose high on her head and a knowing look shone brightly in her eye.

  
“There’s no sense in lying to me, boy. You’re not as clever as you think you are. I know and Y/N ran off somewhere while I was resting, you two think you’re real slick, but you ain’t,” she chided coldly. “Children think they’re the brightest things in the world, but really, they ain’t nothin’ but dumb. So fess up, Arthur. I know something is wrong.”

  
He paused his ministrations, and looked up at the woman. He put as much venom behind his stare as he could, and pursed his lips. He hated when she was like this. Sometimes, she was the most unbearable person he’d ever have the pleasure to deal with.

  
“I ain’t gotta tell you a thing,” he growled,”you’re the one actin’ like you know everythin’.”

  
Miss Grimshaw’s mouth opened, her eyes blazing with anger, but before a word could leave her, a loud, familiar voice rang out.

  
“We’re home!” came the jovial holler from none other than Dutch van der Linde. The silhouette of his horse could be made out coming through the tree line. Hosea was right behind him, sitting tall and proud on his own steed.

  
Arthur and Miss Grimshaw watched them as they swaggered over, the smiles on their faces dazzling, and bright. Cradled against Hosea’s hip was a small wooden chest. In the light of the fire, their faces were lit up a deep orange and their grins looked like the faces of demons right out of hell. Arthur found himself watching with interest as Miss Grimshaw’s attitude completely changed, and launched herself at Dutch. He circled his arms around her waist with a laugh.

  
Hosea cracked open the case, and leaned it over to expose what goods were on the inside. Four thick stacks of cash, a bar of gold, and bond papers were situated neatly in the bottom of the box. Arthur couldn’t help but grin, and the excitement of everyone worked it’s way into him.

  
“We’ve got ourselves set, darling!” Dutch cheered, peering down at Miss Grimshaw. She beamed up at him. It was rare to see them look so happy with each other.

  
“I think this calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?” Hosea said, locking the box back up. Dutch and Miss Grimshaw agreed excitably, and Arthur stood to his feet.

  
“How’d you do it?” he asked, and Hosea patted his shoulder.

  
“I’ll tell you in a minute, boy. Let me get this put away and start up some fun.”

  
And fun, indeed, was started. Dutch had brought out bottles of liquor and jars of moonshine, and the stew was dished out to feast upon but mostly forgotten. Everyone was all smiles and laughter between sips of alcohol and lit cigarette’s, even Arthur was able to get his hands on a drink.

  
As the night went on, Dutch sang to Miss Grimshaw and they danced around the fire, spinning and spinning and almost stripping, and with every misstep they exploded in giggles. Their cheeks were red and speech was slurred. Hosea was slapping his knee to the rhythm of the drunken singing, being way past tipsy himself.

  
“Hey, Hosea,” Arthur called, patting the man’s shoulder to catch his attention. “You never told me how you got the money.”

  
“Oh!” Hosea chirped, turning to face him, “you know that one idiot bastard Clement Yoder? He-he was that, uh, fancy dude who was always bragging about his servants and what-not- oh, but, anyway- Dutch got in close enough to the pig, he invited us to some lousy dinner party, and while he was, carrying on about his fourth wife and giant sea boat, I robbed him blind. That arrogant little bastard, didn’t see a damn thing comin’!”

  
Hosea laughed loudly, and just because, Dutch did, too. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at their stupidity, but he was impressed they were able to pull that much money. He wished he was able to perform as well as they did. Dutch always promised they’d bring him one day, but one day seemed like never.

  
“What’re you gonna do once he realized his money’s gone?” Arthur asked.

  
“He thinks we’re headed to France by now for a business conference with a group of elite Parisians,” Hosea answered. He had a bottle of liquor in his hands. “Stupid, stupid little man!”

  
Arthur laughed. He finished the last of his stew, which had gone cold long, long ago, and set the dish down on the ground. Miss Grimshaw stepped right into it, and nearly feel right over but Dutch caught her. He nearly choked on air laughing so hard as he pulled the woman up. She, however, wasn’t so pleased.

  
“Oh, Goddamn you!” she shrieked, “You’re such a lousy twat, always leaving your- y-your messes all over the goddamn place. You goddamn pig, learn some, s-some goddamn manners! I oughta skin your alive you Goddamn anima-“

  
“Whoa, now, that’s no way to talk in front of a child!”

  
“If I had a dollar for every time you said ‘Goddamn’ in that sentence I’d have more money than Clement Yoder has ever made in his enter life.”

  
“Sh-Shut up, Hosea! You’re not.. you’re not even funny!”

  
“Oh, quit yelling, you’re voice hurts my ears!”

  
“You... you Goddamn.. goddamn, uh...-”

  
“There is a child, right there!”

  
“I’m not a child, Dutch,” Arthur said, a small smile playing at his face. He thought people were annoying, but sometimes they were funny when they were drunk. Or maybe they weren’t, and he just drank a little too much for his 16-year-old body to handle.

  
“I ain’t talking about you,” Dutch slurred, pointing a finger at Arthur, “I’m talking- I’m talkin’ about her.” He jabbed his arm across the fire, but blinked when he realized no one was there.

  
“Her? Oh, Dutch, Y/N is sleeping in her tent! She ain’t here,” Hosea said.

  
“No she ain’t,” Miss Grimshaw hissed, “th-that... girl was cryin’ like a goddamn w-whipped dog all evenin’.”

  
Dutch gasped dramatically and drunkenly. “What? Why was she cryin’? Did you talk to her?”

  
The woman shrugged and shook her head. “She don’t like me much so I didn’t bother.”

  
“I oughta go check on her,” Dutch mumbled. He moved to go find your tent, but he nearly walked right into the fire.

  
Arthur stood and put a firm hand on Dutch’s chest to stop him. He sighed heavily, that same guilt and shame from earlier coming back and hitting him full force.

  
“I’ll do it,” he said, “you’re ‘bout as drunk as a sailor. And stink like one, too. It’s best if I go.”

  
“Alright,” Dutch replied, squinting stupidly at Arthur. “Don’t you hurt her! I’ll... or I’ll... I dunno.”

  
Arthur shook his head, and turned away and walked back towards the tents. The warmth and light of the fire faded behind him, but an embarrassed heat clung to his cheeks. His heart hammered harder and harder in his chest with each step he took. He wished he wasn’t so nervous to talk to you. He wished he didn’t feel so bad for being mean to you. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have felt so guilty. Lost in his thoughts, he arrived at your little tent sooner than he realized.

  
He swallowed dryly. He looked everywhere but at your tent. When had it become so dark out?

  
“Y/N?” he called, taking a step forward. “It’s... well, Arthur. Are you, uh, are you awake?”

  
He was met with silence. So, he gently patted at the side of the tent to catch your attention or get you to answer.

  
“I jus’... I need to talk to you,” he said.

  
“I think you’ve said enough already, Arthur.”

  
Your voice startled him. It was muffled and sleepy sounding, but loud enough for him to hear it. His pulse jumped, and suddenly, he was scrambling for something to say.

  
“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, fast and loud. “I’m sorry, please just... can I... come in or somethin’?”

  
There was brief rustling from the inside of the tent, and a sudden soft amber light made the tent look like it was glowing. The curtain entrance swayed once you untied the knot. Arthur hesitantly stooped down to push it open.

  
He could barely make out your face in the dark. Your hair looked black and you were mostly made of shadows with your back facing the lantern in the corner. His mouth went dry and fingers felt cold. He hadn’t been in your tent since you’d first arrived.

  
It was small and smelt like woodsmoke. All the clothes you had taken with you were folded neatly and tucked underneath a low-standing table Dutch gave you. The ground was covered in blankets and a few pillows. It was plush under his hands.

  
“You come here just to say your sorry and waste my time?” you grumbled.

  
“No,” Arthur said, caught off guard, “I need to talk to you.”

  
“Then talk before I regret letting you in here.”

  
“I... I just... I’m sorry. For how I treated you earlier. I swear on my life that I didn’t take you all that way jus’ to yell at you. I wanted to talk about somethin’ botherin’ me but I... I don’t know, I just _couldn’t_ , and I got to feeling all mean and I said things that I didn’t even mean and that weren’t even true-”

  
“So you were lying? About what you said about Dutch and you?” you asked. Your voice was even and almost cold.

  
Arthur wilted. “Yes, I... I guess I was. I didn’t mean none of that. I just get so... so angry sometimes and say things like that... Dutch cares for you, I know that he does. How he talks to you and about you. And I... I do too, _but nothin’ weird like that_ , you’re-you’re my friend and I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  
He fell silent. So did you. Nothing was said for what seemed like minutes, and a churning tension permeated the air so thick it could almost be seen. Arthur sat with his hands limp in his lap, staring down into the dark pool of blankets below him. He didn’t dare look up at you after his confession. But he got to second guessing so hard; he overanalyzed and panicked about what he said so much he started to sweat at your lack of reaction.

  
“We are friends, right?” he blurted.

  
“Yeah,” you murmured a moment later, “we’re friends. I’m sorry, too. For prying like I did.”

  
Relief washed over him like sweet spring rain. “No, you ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. I’m the one... who should be sorry. I am sorry.”

  
“I know,” you answered. “You’ve said it. But I forgive you so you can shut up about it now.”

  
Arthur smiled.

  
“You don’t have to sit over there, all awkward like that. Come over here, to the light,” you said, shuffling aside to make more room for him. Arthur crawled over to you shyly, and settled down about two feet away from you. He could see your face clearer now, and your eyes were a little swollen. Most likely from crying, or sleeping. He didn’t want to bring it up.

  
“We oughta get you a cot with all that new money,” Arthur said, softly, “it ain’t fun sleepin’ on the ground. Especially if you’ve been doin’ it for weeks.”

  
You hand found its way into the blankets. “I guess I don’t mind it too much.”

  
“If I have one, you need one. You probably need it more, anyway. Since winter’s comin’ you might get sick.”

  
“Dutch told me he’s thinkin’ of moving us before it gets any colder. Said he saw an old abandoned house or a shack or somethin’? But I don’t know how much I trust the word abandoned, since you know, that _abandoned_ beehive.”

  
“You’re still on about that?” Arthur blushed. He shook his head and sighed.

  
“That was only a few weeks ago,” you said, a smile growing on your face.

  
“I still have a bruise from fallin’ like I did.”  
“Did you ever tell Dutch or Hosea?”

  
“No,” he said, “I would never hear the end of it. Ever.”

  
You broke into a fit of giggles. It was refreshing to hear, and it brought Arthur even more relief. It was good to know you weren’t mad at him anymore, or least as much as you were.

  
“I’ll tell them,” you laughed.

  
“Don’t you dare! I will never forgive you!”

  
“I think you owe it to me.”

  
He smiled. “I guess you’re right. It’s still not very nice.”

  
“I wouldn’t really do that to you,” you said, laughter having faded and it left a sweet tone to your voice. “I’m not mean.”

  
“I don’t know,” he teased, “would a nice person tell me to go to hell?”

  
You snorted. “Yes, if you _deserved_ it. And you did.”

  
“Oh, I guess.”

  
A comfortable silence took over. You laid back in your nest of dusty blankets, and Arthur did the same. He crossed his arms behind his head and stare up at the vertex of the ceiling. You turned your head to look at him quietly.

  
Arthur was a handsome boy, that was a fact you couldn’t deny. You found yourself unable to look away as you stare at him, his profile lit up dimly in the warm light of the lantern. You could barely catch the blue glint in his eye. A fluttering feeling washed over you, one you didn’t completely understand. You found it hard to stay angry at him, even though what he said hurt deeply. You found it so easy to accept his apology despite that. And as you stare wistfully at Arthur Morgan, your mind reeled back to your father. What he would think of him. You wondered if he would have gotten along with your brothers. If your mother would have found him charming, or a no-good misfit.

  
“Sometimes I can’t believe they’re gone,” you said, without even really meaning to.

  
Arthur looked over at you. “Who? You’re family?”

  
“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s like... it’s like part of me still thinks they’re out there, waiting for me to come back home.”

  
“Yeah, it’s like that sometimes. It can be a hard truth to accept. Loss is never an easy thing,” Arthur said. There was a certain sadness in his voice.

  
“I guess so... I miss them. I miss them a whole lot. I dream about them. Sometimes at night, all I can see is them dying.”

  
“Things like that stick to ya. I know. And it hurts real bad. Some things you can’t ignore or put to rest. It’s, it’s like a curse, almost. A spell that can’t really be broken.”

  
You turned on your side. “Did you lose your ma and pa like I did?”

  
He frowned a little. “No, not quite like you did. But I did lose them. My momma was a good woman from what I can remember of her. I know she loved me. I think... I think I was about five years old when she died. She got real, real sick, and nobody would let me see her. I think that’s when my father really started to fall apart. He... he wasn’t a good man. When I was about 11, he was arrested for larceny. For stealing. And the bastard was dumb enough to get caught. Maybe a year later, after he served his time and paid his fine, he got himself shot. Some man he made a bad deal with walked right up to him and shot him right between the eyes. I saw it, I was there. And it wasn’t a pretty sight, and just like you, it haunted me for awhile. But I never liked him. So I took his hat and ran.”

  
“Why.. why didn’t you like him?” you asked quietly.

  
Arthur sighed. “My daddy... my father... Lyle Goddamn Morgan... wasn’t a good man, like I said. Once my mom died he would beat me, refused to acknowledge me, and barely kept me fed. I had to raise myself until he died. He was the worst man I’ve ever met. The worst kind of criminal... he raped, drank, killed, and robbed all just because. That man didn’t have a heart. He didn’t have nothin’. Not even me.”

  
You frowned, and felt tears sting your eyes. Carefully, you reached out and softly held his hand. He flinched at first, but eased into it eventually. His fingers were cold and rough. You slipped your fingers between his.

  
“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” you whispered, “that’s so terrible. You didn’t deserve that.”

  
“That don’t matter, whether I did or didn’t. But that bastard had what was comin’ to him. He died bloody like he deserved. If only it would have happened sooner.”

  
You were at a loss for words. Your heart went out to Arthur; he lived a painful life. You had the burning desire to hold him, and promise him things would be better, but you couldn’t. A hard look set on his face and you knew he was remembering. You squeezed his hand.

  
“I’m always here for you, Arthur. I’m your friend. I’m not ever gonna let you feel like you ain’t cared for, like your papa did,” you said, tone serious, and urgent.

  
He only gave you a half-hearted smile. “Tell me about your mother,” he said, changing the subject. “You don’t really talk about her.”

  
“Well,” you said softly, “it’s ‘cause I didn’t really know her. Just like you, my mama died when I was real young. It was when Percy was born, he’s my little brother. The doctors said she was bleeding too much on the inside. She died there a few days later in her bedroom, blood all over the bed. Percy was just fine, we had some lady nurse him. I was four, I think. Papa didn’t talk about her too much after that, but I know she was an Indian. I ain’t got a picture of her, but I know she had the longest black hair I’ve ever seen. She was a good mama. Ivor and Warren and Everett, my other brothers, would talk about her to me. She was a Shoshone Indian, and her and papa got married under her tribe. Once the government started coming through, they ran. Mama didn’t want a life on a reservation. So she fled. And that’s about as much as I know about her.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, “must have been hard growin’ up without a mother.”

  
“Don’t be sorry. It doesn’t hurt as much as papa dyin’ and my brothers. ‘Cause I knew them better. The only really hard thing about it was nobody teachin’ me about being a girl.”

  
Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that. You had four brothers?”

  
“Yep. I loved them dearly, and I still do... but I got a lot of crap for not being a ‘proper lady’ by the old women when we into town. I think that’s why Miss Grimshaw doesn’t like me.”

  
“Miss Grimshaw don't like much of anybody.”

  
“She likes Dutch.”

  
“Oh, barely. She nags on him, too.”

  
“I don’t see him washin’ dishes.”

  
“It’s a different kind of nagging.”

  
“Ahh, I see. You think they’re in love?”

  
“Hm. I don’t know too much about love, but I don’t think they are. I just think they’re lonely with each other.”

  
“Are you lonely?”

  
Arthur looked over at you, and looked into your eyes for a moment. There was nothing but genuine curiosity and innocence there, and compassion. His fingers twitched against your hand. He had never truly thought about being lonely. He only really knew what anger and desperation felt like. And hurt. But the question you asked him had him reeling, and he came to his conclusion a few moments later.

  
“I think,” he said, “that everyone is lonely. At least a little bit. So yeah, I guess I’m lonely. Maybe not in the same way Dutch or Miss Grimshaw, or Hosea might be. I dunno. Everyone’s a little different.”

  
“Well,” you replied with a smile, “you don’t gotta be lonely no more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This was a little long. I just want to clarify that the reader had a Native American mother, but the appearance of the biological father is up to them. From here on out, there will be a lot of time skipping. I cannot write out everyday of their lives lol. More coming soon!


	9. A Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea opens your eyes to a little-known truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Hosea would definitely support women defying the norm 100% and also I love him

“‘Such are enabled, with... apparent, ease, and without s-..severity, to subject to their will, and bring into... uh... h-harmonious? and sys-tem-matic order, the various members of their small estate, to regulate their... their...’”

  
“Peculiarities.”

  
“‘...To regulate their pe-cul-iar-ities, and so balance and compensate the difficulties... wait, no... the deficiencies of one by the excess of another, as to produce a... a harm.. harmonious, and orderly system’.”

  
“Good job, Arthur! You’re getting better everyday,” Hosea praised jovially. He had a wide and proud smile on his face, one that had you grinning, and you weren’t even the subject of the praise.

  
Arthur shook his head and rubbed his temples. His hand relaxed against the page where he had been reading along with his finger. It was a trick Hosea had taught him to help him focus on each word as he encountered them. He sighed.

  
“Can we quit for today? We’ve read almost six pages already. It’s giving me a headache,” he groaned.

  
Hosea chuckled and ruffled Arthur’s hair, much to his displeasure. “You just don’t wanna work,” he teased. “I know how young men think. I was one, once.”

  
“You’re right, I don’t want to work. It takes forever.”

  
“Sure, but you’ve got the hardest part down. You know your alphabet, how to write and sound out all the letters as you read them. Practice is important, Arthur. It’s the only way to get better,” Hosea responded. He stood up from his chair and poured himself a cup of hot coffee from a kettle that had been heating over the fireplace. The black liquid steamed in his little tin cup. Despite the fire going, the inside of the cabin was still cold.

  
“I just wish it was... easier, or something,” Arthur grumbled. He folded over the corner of his page and closed the book.

  
“I know, boy. We’ll practice some more tomorrow. Here, want some coffee?”

  
“Oh, sure.” Arthur eagerly took the hot cup from Hosea. The warm tin felt good against his cold fingers, and he held the cup to his lips. It smelt good, and the steam was refreshing against his face.

  
Hosea offered his cup to you, which you accepted. The coffee was almost too hot to drink right away, and the bitterness of it shocked your tastebuds. But it warmed your stomach right away, and Hosea laughed as you handed the cup back to him.

  
“It’s hard to get used to,” he said.

  
You liked Hosea. He was like a father to you just as much as Dutch was, and you respected him deeply. Dutch was young, and his youthfulness made him not as wise and his passion was too strong sometimes. Hosea, being older, truly understood your needs as a teenager and gave you patience. He gave you discipline, and helped you understand why things were the way they were. He was gracious, and funny sometimes. As much as you enjoyed Dutch’s company, sometimes it was easier to be with Hosea.

  
Ever since you were moved up to this old abandoned cabin a little ways away from a town called Logan, Hosea had spent more time with you. He was bunked with you, since the cabin only had two bedrooms, if you could call them that. Arthur was made to camp out in the parlor room, while Dutch and Miss Grimshaw holed up together. You didn’t like that he had to sleep out there alone, but at least he got the fireplace.

  
It was the 2nd of December when the lot of you arrived at your new camp. Miss Grimshaw had insisted that you help her “tidy up the place”, and that you did. It took nearly the whole day to get it cleaned to her liking. You helped her set up beds and tables for the others, and she had you help her fix dinner. Dutch and Hosea had taken Arthur out with them to check out the surroundings.

  
Being alone with Miss Grimshaw wasn’t always fun. In fact, it was hardly ever fun. She liked to rant and complain and nag, and never seemed to shut up, and it made you feel bad for her. It seemed like sometimes no one really listened to her. Granted, it was incredibly hard to do so, but maybe that’s why she was so overbearing. But, as you helped her clean up the dusty old cabin, she talked about something else. And as awkward as it was, it made you appreciate her a little bit.

  
“Now, being a woman in this world isn’t easy,” she said, as she began sorting through everyone’s belongings. “And growing up into a young woman living the life we do can’t be any better. I know we ain’t very close, but there’s no other woman around here for miles to tell you things, so I’m gonna take that responsibility.”

  
And she did tell you things. She talked about growing, about menstruation, about sex, about love, and men. She talked about Dutch, robbing, shooting, and the dream they all hoped to achieve. She talked about morals, and how you had a choice in this life and that you didn’t have to stay. She said that living a life of crime wasn’t something you didn’t have to do if you didn’t want to. And she went on about more, and it was just a steady, constant stream of talking, but for once, you really did listen. And it reminded you of how your mother wasn’t around and if she would have talked about these things with you, too. But once the boys came back, she changed the subject like she never said a thing. And it made you smile.

  
The first few nights there, you had a hard time sleeping. As much as you wanted to get over the death of your family, a big part of you was still holding on. Arthur was right about what he said, that some things just stick to you and don’t leave. Ever since that night you lost your family, you had grown afraid of the dark and open spaces. Being in a cabin was a bigger comfort than being in a tent by yourself, but every time you stood on the porch you were reminded of your own home and how your father died, and was buried, in the front yard. You think Hosea caught onto this somehow, because at night, he kept his lantern burning low despite it being a waste of kerosene and he read aloud into the late hours of the night until you fell asleep. You had really grown fond of him, and appreciated the little gestures and things he did to help you and Arthur.

  
It was December 8th now, and you had spent six nights here already. On the third day, a massive snowstorm had blown in, and in a matter of hours, three feet of thick snow had been piled across the county. So, for the past few days, you’ve all been stuck in the cabin. Dutch said it was a good thing, and that no one would follow them up here, but Hosea said it meant you couldn’t leave if there was an emergency. If anything, it only made you restless. You had gotten used to be outside all the time.

  
So while everyone was snowed in, Hosea and sometimes Dutch, would sit you and Arthur down to read and practice writing. Which is what you just finished doing.

  
“Yeah, it is. I don’t know why I expect something different every time you give it to me,” you said, referring to the coffee Hosea let you drink.

  
“It’s better with milk or somethin’ like that in it,” Arthur joined in. He took a small sip from his cup. “But we ain’t got enough to use in this coffee.”

  
“Arthur’s right,” Hosea said. He sat back down in his rickety old chair and leaned back, his tin mug held at his chest. He wore a soft smile on his face, which wasn’t too rare, but not too common, either. He seemed to be in a chipper mood today. “But when you’re all old like me, it doesn’t bother ya so much.”

  
You looked gently at him. “How old are you, Hosea?”

  
“I’ll be 35 come May,” he answered. “Surprising, right? With this receding hairline you might guess I was 50.”

  
You laughed, and shook your head. “No, don’t say that, Hosea! You look your age. You’re a... uh, handsome young man.”

  
He chuckled warmly and you relished the sound. “I am neither of those things, but I am flattered.”

  
“Don’t be mean to yourself,” you chided. “I’m sure if you asked a lady, she’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

  
“The only woman who can stand me is Miss Grimshaw, and that’s just barely. But have you seen her?”

  
You and Arthur busted out laughing. Arthur nearly choked on his coffee.

  
“You better be glad she’s not here,” Arthur wheezed, wiping off his mouth. “She would have slaughtered you.”

  
“And rightly so,” Hosea chuckled. He sighed contently, and there was a cozy silence between everyone for a moment.

  
Arthur’s knee bumped yours underneath the table briefly. Your heart jumped in your chest for a moment and you looked at him, but he was staring forward somewhere passed Hosea. You gently bumped him back, and so did he. You softly smiled, and couldn’t help but giggle a little.

  
“What’s got you so giddy, dear girl?” Hosea asked. He sat his coffee cup down and grinned at you warmly.

  
“Nothin’,” you replied simply. “I’m just getting a little restless. Haven’t been kept inside for so long in a while.”

  
He nodded. “We’ll be here for a while, Y/N. Maybe until spring. It’s low profile and a good distance from civilization. But, the snow should settle in a few weeks. Then we can let you loose outside.”

  
“A few weeks is a still awhile.”

  
“I know, have patience. I’ve been thinkin’ maybe once spring comes around we can go huntin’. The three of us.”

  
“Wait- me?” you gawked, eyes wide. “Hunting?”

  
“Yes, you. And Arthur, and me. I’ve seen you shooting that old gun with Dutch. You’re not all that bad,” Hosea replied. His tone was sincere and there was a kind look in his face.

  
“But- I don’t know, I wouldn’t be any good. Women.. women don’t hunt, anyway.”

  
Hosea laughed. He laughed good and hard, and for a moment, it had you embarrassed. Your cheeks burned. Arthur raised an eyebrow at you with a half smile.

  
“Oh, dear girl! ‘Women don’t hunt’, who told you that?” he asked.

  
“Well, uh... my father,” you answered shyly. Your hands met in your lap, creating knots from your fingers.

  
“As good as it is to mind your parents and listen to them, you shouldn’t believe that. Women are capable of doing just as much as men, and sometimes, they’re even better. Society makes them out to be little weak things meant to be hidden away, too fragile to be handled. That, or whores. There’s nothing really in between in the eyes of an average American man. Don’t let a man tell you what you can and cannot be. Life is far too short for that. If you don’t want to go hunting, that’s fine. But I don’t want you to shy away from it just because someone told you that you couldn’t just because you’re not a man, or not white or not whatever they want you to be,” Hosea said. He found his cup again and sipped lightly from it.

  
You blinked. Hosea’s words repeated over and over in your head. That was the first time anyone had said something like that to you so upfront. Naturally, you weren’t the most feminine girl having lived most your life with your brothers. Your father wasn’t the most conservative man, but he wasn’t entirely liberal, either. He didn’t mind race, obviously, having married an Indian woman, but he was stuck with the idea that women were below men. But he never forced any “womanly” manners upon you like Miss Grimshaw did. He just didn’t let you do certain things your brothers did. Like hunt, or do heavy work.

  
“I guess you’re right... thank you, Hosea,” you said. You smiled, slowly and softly.

  
He nodded. “Now, huntin’ won’t be for awhile now. So you have time to think on it, girl. Now, if you excuse me, I’m gonna go do some reading of my own. You two stay out of trouble, now.”

  
Hosea stood up, and patted your head. Despite how cold the air was in the room, his palm was warm and you smiled. He picked up his near empty cup, and whistled as he left the room. You watched him walk away, and once he disappeared behind the wall, you turned to Arthur.

  
“I really like Hosea,” you said to him.

  
Arthur looked at you, and that’s when you realized how close you were to him. You could practically smell the coffee on his breath, and his shoulder was just barely grazing yours. His knee was rested against your own. You had never realized how blue his eyes were until that moment. They were the brightest shade of cerulean you had ever seen, and the intensity of them rivaled the sky. It was like every little detail was enhanced; the way his hair was parted and how it curled just below his ears, the soft curve of his smooth cheek, the length of his eyelashes, the pinkness of his lips. It all hit you like a train and you suddenly found your heart caught in your throat. All you could do was stare.

  
“Yeah?” he said, “You like him or just what he said?”

  
“Well... well, both, actually,” you stammered. Your cheeks felt warm.

  
A small smile played at his lips. “I can’t imagine you goin’ huntin’. And it ain’t ‘cause you’re a girl or nothin’ like that... just ‘cause it’s, well, you.”

  
“What?” You gasped, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  
“It’s means you’re kinda yella.”

  
“What! Arthur Morgan, I am not yellow!”

  
He laughed, and playfully shoved you. “I’m kiddin’! It just doesn’t seem like it’d suit your fancy, is all. Didn’t know you’d like that kinda thing.”

  
“Well... if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I really do like hunting,” you said. Your heart felt a little calmer now, and as long as you stared at the table things were fine. “I never really thought about it too much. I mean, I’ve been fishing but that’s fishing. It’s not like... shooting an animal.”

  
“I’ve only been out with Dutch and Hosea a few times. The first time is an absolute rush, I can’t quite explain it. I think it’s kinda... kinda fun. I ain’t sayin’ I’m any good at it, ‘cause I ain’t, but, it’s fun,” he says. He leans away from you to brush at some dirt on the table, and immediately, you miss his warmth. You found yourself wishing he’d nestle into you. You wished he was thinking the same thing.

  
“I see,” you sighed. “But me and you have different definitions of fun, Arthur.”

  
“How do ya figure?”

  
“You like... shootin’ things and gettin’ real rough. As I much as I don’t mind getting dirty or doing work, I’m not so rowdy. I like learning. I like reading.”

  
“Well, You was... that don’t mean you won’t like hunting. It’s an important thing to learn.”

  
You pointed to the book on the table. “So is readin’.”

  
He shook his head. “You sound like Hosea.”

  
“I don’t mind that,” you replied, “in fact, I’d take that as a compliment. He’s a smart man.”

  
“And apparently young and handsome.”

  
“Oh hush, you’re just jealous.”

  
“Jealous of what?”

  
“Jealous that he got complimented by a lady and you didn’t.”

  
“You’re hardly a lady.”

  
“You don’t know what a lady is, Arthur,” you teased. “You can hardly tell the difference between a buck and a doe.”

  
He scoffed, then stood up and stretched. “I do too. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, let’s play Catch the Ten.”

  
“Arthur, I’m terrible at that game, can’t we play something else?”

  
“No,” he laughed, “that’s why I wanna play it.”


	10. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are met with most pleasant of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there’s gonna be a lot of time skipping, I will now post the dates in each chapter. I’ve had a lot of fun writing this and I cannkt wait to share what I have to store for you guys!! Also I’m sorry for tough formatting this site is kinda confusing

*December 24, 1879*

Arthur sat on his cot, leaned over with his elbows on his knees, whittling away at a stick. The flakes of bark and wood fell to the floor like snow. The blade of his knife glinted in the light that came in through the dusty window. You sat beside him, watching him work away at the wood while you were supposed to be sewing.

  
Truth be told, you couldn’t focus on what Miss Grimshaw asked you to do. The shirt was left abandoned on your lap, needle somewhere loose in the fabric. Too many thoughts were swimming around in your head to let you concentrate. And it was all because of Christmas.

  
All your life so far, you had celebrated Christmas. Each year, you and your family would gather around the fireplace and exchange little gifts, then listen to your father read   
about the birth of Jesus from the Bible. And afterwards, you’d eat until your heart’s content and sleep it off. It was fun, from how you remember it. Trying to stay awake as Papa read, flinging peas at your brothers over dinner, lighting the candles for the table, and passing gifts from person to person; it was such a happy time. It was a day where no one worried, where no one cried, and where you remembered why you loved your family so much. But, you would never have that again. You would never have a feast with your siblings, or receive a pair of stockings or a ribbon for Christmas again. You’d never see your family again. Never hear them laugh or say your name again. They were gone. And the grief of it all weighed you down heavily.

  
You sighed as you tried blinking away your tears. You didn’t want to cry, not with Arthur next to you. In all honesty, Arthur had brought you a lot of joy since the death of your family. For the past two and a half months, he had been your greatest distraction, and friend. You were always with him, especially since winter had set in. And yes, you did annoy him and him annoy you, but at the end of the day, you always gravitated towards each other and often without mentioning anything, all was forgiven. It had been that way since he apologized in your tent one night, long ago. Feeling so close to him, you shouldn’t have felt embarrassed to cry in front of him. But you did, and not a whole lot could have changed that.

  
So, in an attempt to hide your sadness, you stilled your emotions as you watched him work away. His jaw was set and eyes were focused as he scraped the same spot over and over. The end of the stick was formed into a sharp point. You didn’t remember when he got the stick.

  
“Miss Grimshaw’s gonna be upset if she sees you didn’t get that finished before supper,” Arthur said. His voice made you jump, and you were startled back into work.

  
“I know,” you grumbled, picking up the needle and poking it through the fabric, “it’s just so... boring.”

  
“Well, this ain’t too fun either.”

  
“You’re not being forced to do it.”

  
“I guess so,” he replied. He looked over at your work and cracked a soft smile. “That’s the worst stitchin’ I’ve ever seen.”

  
You snorted and shook your head. “How about you try it.”

  
“No, I don’t have to. I know I’m better at it already.”

  
“Oh, bullshit,” you grinned. “You can’t lie to me, Arthur.”

  
“That’s what you think,” he quipped.

  
“Whatever you say, pal.”

  
And it fell silent once more. The quietness had you thinking again, but this time more about Arthur. The friendship you had with him developed faster than you imagined it to. Quiet spells like this quickly went from awkward, to comfortable, and you weren’t shy about sitting near him or breaking the touch barrier. He wormed himself into your heart very fast, and when you thought about him sometimes you’d blush and feel all warm inside. He was very dear to you, in a way no one had been before. Not even your brothers.

  
_Your brothers_.

  
You sank back into that hole again. The one where all you could do was think of them and miss them. You yearned to go back home and wrap your arms around your father. It had you feeling like a child in a very sad way that you did not like.

  
“You okay?”

  
You blinked, and a tear fell to your wrist. It was hot, and had you quickly feeling shame. You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

  
“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine,” you answered. You kept on sewing and didn’t look at Arthur. He had stopped whittling.

  
“You can’t lie to me either, Y/N. What’s wrong?”

  
Your lip trembled. His question was blunt and if it were anyone else, you would have been offended by the harshness to his voice. You swallowed down the lump in your throat. All you could do was wrench your eyes shut to try and hide the tears threatening to fall.

  
“I just-” you whispered, “I just... I miss home.”

  
Arthur blanked for a moment. He looked down at the stick in his hands as he thought of something to say, and when he did speak, his voice came out quiet and gravelly.

  
“Well, you can’t really go back there.”

  
You scoffed and stood up abruptly, turning to leave. “How comforting, Arthur.”

  
“No, that ain’t really what I mean,” he grumbled, “just listen a moment. I get that people need time to grieve, but you got a home now. You ain’t uncared for or goin’ hungry. I mean, this ain’t ideal but it’s still home.”

  
Your shoulders slumped as you stare at the ground. You were thankful for Dutch’s kindness. You did appreciate everything everyone had done for you, but that wouldn’t ever be the same as your real family, as blood. The same memories and feelings were not carried here. You wanted to make Arthur understand that.

  
“Yes, I know, and I am grateful, but it’s... it’s just different. They’re not here, my family. I loved them. I love them,” you said.

  
“Well, I guess,” Arthur sighed. “What’s got you feelin’ like this?”

  
You sat back down next to him, eyes teary. He watched you carefully after setting his whittling project down. Your fingers curled together in your lap.

  
“It’s... it’s silly,” you huffed, shaking your head. “I don't know, I’ll tell you anyway. It’s... it’s Christmas.”

  
He blinked. “Christmas?”

  
“Yes,” you said nervously, “Christmas. I told you it was dumb.”

  
“Well, I don’t really think it’s dumb, but... what’s so great about Christmas that’s got you so upset about ‘em?”

  
Now it was your turn to be confused. “What do you mean? It’s Christmas, how do you not- you know, you pray and thank Jesus and give gifts and spend time with your family.”

  
“I ain’t ever really celebrated Christmas, Y/N.”

  
Realization slowly hit you. Arthur didn’t grow up the same way you did. He didn’t have a loving family or money to spare. He couldn’t relate to your pain in this way. And it humbled you for a moment. You sighed again, and turned to face him.

  
“E-Every year, on Christmas... we, my family and I, would sit all together in front of the fireplace. Papa would sit on his rocking chair and read from the Bible, about when Jesus was born in the manger. And then we’d give each other gifts, like one year I got a ribbon for my hair and I got Everett a story book. Just, little things like that, and then we’d eat a big dinner all together, and it was fun,” you told Arthur. Your voice was shaky as you remembered the past and it was hard to keep the tears down. “I... I know that your family wasn’t good to you, your father wasn’t, but.. mine was, Arthur. I miss them. All of them.”

  
His gaze softened on you a little, and he nodded solemnly in an attempt to understand.

  
“That’s... I’m sorry. That they can’t be here, to celebrate with you again,” Arthur murmured. He felt awkward and didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t completely understand.

  
You sucked in a breath and wiped at your eyes. “It’s fine, I suppose,” you said, “ain’t anything I can do it about now.”

  
Before Arthur could speak again, the front door of the cabin opened. The cold winter air rushed in and with it, two grown men and few snowflakes. It was Dutch and Hosea, and after they closed the door they plucked off their wet hats and gloves. Their faces were glowing red from the chill, but their eyes were sparkling. When Dutch caught your eye, he smiled at you.

  
“Hello, children,” he greeted kindly, “What’s with the long faces? Not in the Christmas spirit, are we?”

  
Arthur glanced at you as you stiffened. He wanted to punch Dutch right in the face for saying that.

  
“Oh, they’ve just got cabin fever,” Hosea answered as he waddled over, “ain’t a pleasant thing.”

  
“Well, we’ve got something that might cheer ya up, for the both of you,” Dutch cooed, and he reached into the black leather satchel at his side.

  
He pulled out a wrinkled paper bag, from it, two little chocolate bars. Your eyes widened, and you looked up at Dutch. He was smiling widely, and you could hardly believe it.

  
“It’s candy!” he cheered, and the happiness that oozed from his tone was infectious. “The shopkeep said they had just come in from England.”

  
Arthur hesitantly took the candy from Dutch, and you did the same. You could only stare at the paper packaging, too shocked to fully process the gift.

  
“That’s not all,” Hosea said, and from his own bag, he pulled out yet more gifts. “It’s something that might last just a little bit longer.”

  
Hosea gave Arthur a pack of cigarettes, and he handed you a book. Your mouth fell open and you stare at him in wonder, utterly speechless.

  
“Not even gonna say thank you? I think they’re ungrateful, Hosea,” Dutch teased.

  
Hosea chuckled as he began to remove his coat. “I think they’re just surprised, Dutch. I don’t think they’ve ever been so spoiled.”

  
“Thanks,” Arthur said, his tone curious. “Cigarettes?”

  
Hosea nodded. “Before I was your age, I was already smoking. I’ve seen you have some before, and I figured well shit, he’s old enough. So I got you the best name I could find.”

  
Arthur smiled, and tucked the carton away into his pocket. “Thanks.”

  
Your fingers trailed over the surface of the book cover. It was a hard copy of Black Beauty, and the title was engraved in golden letters. The pages were a clean white and free of creases or tears. It was a new book.

  
“This must have been expensive,” you said, transfixed on the book. “It’s brand new... where did you get this?”

  
“We went into Logan,” Dutch answered. “The place was bustling, despite how cold it was. We originally just wanted to see how bad the snow was on the trails, and then Hosea got to talkin’ about the holiday. So we stopped in at the general store and sure enough, they had plenty goods to go around.”

  
“Did you.. did you steal it?” you asked shyly. Dutch laughed, and Hosea smiled.

  
“No, sweetheart, we didn’t. But Hosea surely worked down a price for that book. That man can persuade a mountain to move.”

  
“It’s no trouble, really,” Hosea said, waving a hand. “We just wanted to do something special for you two, is all. Though, I’ve never seen Christmas so advertised before. You know, they got people putting trees in their houses?”

  
“Yes, I do believe I’ve heard of that. What’s a pine tree got anything to do with an infant?”

  
As the two rattled on about Christmas and what they saw in town, you pushed aside the shirt you were supposed to be sewing and settled your book carefully and neatly on your lap. You tore open the wrapper of the chocolate Dutch gave you, and inside, was a bar of four candy pieces. You looked over at Arthur to see he had already devoured half of it, and you laughed.

  
He turned his head to stare at you, bewildered. His cheeks were stuffed with it and he looked so dumb.

  
“How’d you eat that much of it already?” you asked between giggles.

  
He shrugged. “I dunno, it’s good. Try it.”

  
And try it, you did. It was filled with cream in the middle and it was almost too rich to eat at first, but eventually the sweetness grew on you enough to enjoy it. It was cold from being outside.

  
“It is pretty good,” you said, and Arthur nodded.

  
“Told ya.”

  
It was in that brief moment you forgot about your sadness. The way Dutch smiled and Hosea laughed as they chattered on restored a warmth inside of you, and no longer did you feel any tears in your eyes. In a way, Arthur was right. This was home, you had your own family here. And it was good to reminded of that, like you were now. They cared for you, they thought of you. It felt good.

  
“Thank you,” you said, loud enough so everyone could hear you.

  
Dutch turned to you, and got down on one knee in front of you. He patted your shoulder, and with his other hand, he held your own tightly. His brown eyes were sparkling and you felt your lips curl into a smile as he grinned.

  
“You’re very welcome, dear Miss L/N. You have brought us  
a lot of joy since you’ve joined us. I should be the one thanking you.”

  
You blushed, and looked down to your lap as Dutch pulled away from you. He ruffled Arthur’s hair and playfully shoved him, which made Arthur smile, much to your surprise.

  
“You too, Arthur. You’ve helped us immensely. I am very grateful for that. For the both of you. Even you, Hosea,” Dutch said.

  
Arthur only nodded, and Hosea laughed loudly. He had poured himself a cup of coffee since arriving.

  
“Shut up, you sap,” Hosea teased, “go find your woman. She’ll be jealous you didn’t didn’t get her anything.”

  
Dutch stood up straight and gave Hosea a cheeky grin. “I always have something to give her.”

  
His innuendo didn’t go over anyone’s head, and everyone laughed and shooed him out of the room as he chuckled. Hosea shook his head with a fond smile. Your heart bloomed.

  
“Dutch is right, you know. You two are very special to us. Even Miss Grimshaw,” Hosea said. He was more serious now, and his eyes met yours. “And I’m sorry Christmas can’t be great, but we try our best for you. We really do. Just as you try your best for us.”

  
“Thank you, Hosea,” you said, gripping the book in your lap, “I mean it. Thank you. For everything.”

  
He chuckled, and waved away your words humbly. “Oh, don’t thank me yet. I haven’t given you the life you two deserve.”

  
And with that, Hosea left the room, humming as he went. Arthur and you looked at each other with soft smiles and fell into a warm, comforting silence. Arthur leaned back against the wall, picking his up stick and knife back up and began whittling again. You sighed contently, and turned and put your feet up on the cot. Your back met Arthur’s shoulder, and you relaxed against him. He said nothing, and didn’t complain. You opened to the first page of your book, and began to read.


	11. The Hunter and the Hart: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea and Arthur take you out on your first hunting trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Sorry it took awhile to get this chapter out. It’s a bit longer than the others, so sorry it seems a little boring. I’m SO HYPE to really get this story moving. I have a lot of fluff and a lot of angst for ya’ll in the future. So, stick around ;)

_*June 15, 1880*_

“You ready, Y/N, dear?”

  
The sound of Hosea’s voice startled you, and you looked over your shoulder to see him standing in the doorway of your room. In the dim pink early morning light, his skin seemed to glow, much like his eyes did as he smiled affectionately at you. There was no rush in his voice, no force. The question was simple and kind, but it had your heart hammering and your stomach churning.

  
It was the day of your first hunt. You were nervous to say the least, but you weren’t sure why, or at least pinpoint the exact reason. You were scared to hurt an animal, to ruin the hunt, to mess up somehow, afraid to leave the cabin you’ve become so comfortable in for the last seven months. Hosea had even helped you practice on the bow. You had gotten used to the strength it took to pull back the string, and your aim wasn’t terrible. Hosea had spent countless hours with you once the weather began warming up, reassuring you and guiding you. He was hell bent on helping you understand that you were capable of doing this. And shyly, you would listen and comply.

  
You had just finished packing your bag. You had checked your supplies over three different times, making sure you had your clothes, bedroll, a knife, rope, socks, and another pair of shoes. That’s all Hosea asked you to take. He said he was going to make it a trip of it, and that he’d spend half the day traveling, and the other half of the day actually hunting. You were going to camp out and leave in the morning. The idea of it really had your blood pumping.

  
“Yeah,” you answered quietly with a nod.

  
Hosea’s smile grew a little bit bigger, and he waved you over. Complying, you shouldered your bag and followed him out into the parlor. Dutch and Miss Grimshaw were already up, standing silently with each other as they drank their morning coffee. Dutch turned to you, and without a word, you wandered up to him. He gave you a gentle grin, and put a hand on your shoulder.

  
“I trust you’re going to bring home the biggest buck I have ever seen,” he said. He was only teasing, but his words had your chest feeling tight.

  
“I guess,” you mumbled.

  
“Don’t be scared. You’ll do just fine. Enjoy the experience, your first hunt only happens once,” Dutch consoled. His voice was sincere and genuine, like it usually was, and you found yourself wishing he could come with you.

  
“I’ll try,” you replied grimly.

  
“It’ll be alright. We’ll be here when you get back,” he said. He briefly patted the top of your head.

  
As Hosea began to lead you out the door, you glanced at Miss Grimshaw. She wasn’t smiling, nor frowning. Her face was plain and void of expression, but you could see a certain kind of look in her eye. It was an excited, reassuring sparkle, and you nodded at her.

  
“Take care of them kids, Hosea,” Dutch said to the other man.

  
“They’ll be the ones taking care of me,” Hosea laughed, before ushering you outside and closing the door behind him.

  
The air was pleasantly cool. A faint mist lingered low to the dewy ground, and lit up a soft hazy color in the sunshine. The sky above was painted a soft baby blue that faded into yellow, then pink, as it got closer to the rising sun that peaked and hid behind the pine trees that surrounded the cabin. The excited chirping of birds reminded you that summer was just around the corner already.

  
“Arthur’s got the horses ready,” Hosea said. You followed him to the tree line, where the horses were grazing. Only two out of the three were saddled, and Arthur was adjusting the saddle bag on one of them.

  
He turned and looked at you when you approached. He looked tired, and he gave you a nod and a short rush of excitement shot through you. You were glad he’d be with you on your first hunt. Over the winter and early parts of spring, you had really gotten attached to him. There was hardly ever a time you two were not together.

  
“You’ll ride with me, Y/N,” said Hosea, breaking you from your moment with Arthur.

  
Since you’d known him, Hosea rode a beautiful strawberry roan Tennessee walker. He had let you brush her cream-white mane and tail a few times when it got muddy and tangled. She was a very gentle and mild-tempered creature, so her name, Sweet Pea, was fitting.

  
Hosea hoisted you up onto the back of her, and then mounted. Arthur did the same with the horse he was riding, which used to be Dutch’s. It was a dark bay thoroughbred so eloquently named Black Beard. Which confused you, because he wasn’t black.

  
“You nervous?” Arthur asked as Hosea began leading you out to the nearest trail.

  
“Yeah,” you admitted, “I am. I’m really nervous.”

  
“Now’s the time to speak up if you wanna head back,” he said. He didn’t say it to be mean, you knew.

  
“No,” you answered, “I want to do this. I _have_ to do this.”

  
“I’m very proud of you for coming with us, Y/N. The first hunt can be very daunting. But, it’s a good experience. It’s an important thing to learn, especially for people such as ourselves. The animals we hunt die so that we can live. Even in nature, that’s how things go. It can be a hard thing to accept, but it’s a valuable lesson. You’ll do just fine, Y/N. I know you will,” Hosea said.

  
You sighed, and leaned forward into him. You rested your head against his back and loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. You didn’t want to seem so miserable, because you weren’t. Like Hosea said, it was daunting. You were doing this for yourself more than anything else. Arthur and Dutch didn’t help you with your shooting for nothing, and what Hosea told you over the winter really had you thinking. That night Dutch found you, you felt so hopeless and afraid. There was nothing you could have done to save yourself or your family. But if anything like that happened again, you could defend yourself now. You could help those around you survive. And you thought that maybe, if you could shoot something like an innocent deer, you could shoot a guilty man without so much hesitation. You didn’t want what happened nine months ago to happen to you ever again.

  
“Where are we headed again, Hosea?” Arthur asked, interrupting your thoughts. He was the one carrying all the supplies on his horse.

  
“It’s this valley called Bircher’s Run. A fella over in Logan got to talkin’ with me about it. Says it’s a good hunting and fishing spot. A lot of elk and deer there, apparently. He had one leg, lost it in the war, he said. I forget his name, he was nice gentleman.”

  
“Huh,” Arthur grunted. “Is it far from here?”

  
“It’s maybe an a few hours from here, not too bad. We go down this mountain, and east of the river,” Hosea answered. “Just keep some patience.”

  
Arthur looked to you, and you locked eyes. You gave him a small, forced smile which he returned. He had talked before about how he was excited to get out, but he was never very expressive. You wondered if he was still excited about the hunting trip.

  
“Don’t look so down, kid,” Arthur said, “it really ain’t so bad.”

  
“Sorry,” you sighed. “I’m trying not to be a burden.”

  
“You’re no burden, dear!” Hosea chided. “You’re fear is normal. When I was a kid, maybe a little younger than you, about 12, I went on my first hunt. My father had finally came around and said he was gonna ‘teach me about bein’ a man’. So, he gave me a rifle, let me shoot it a few times, then took me down and around the mountain that same day. It was a miracle I had got anything at all, I was a terrible, nervous wreck. But my father-,” Hosea chuckled fondly, “-he tracked down a deer, pointed at it through the trees, and asked me to shoot it. And I did, and for the next few hours we tracked it through the forest until we found it dead on the ground. The whole way there it felt like I was going to pass out and fall right off my horse.”

  
You smiled shyly against his back. “That’s kinda impressive.”

  
“It was a miracle, really! What were the odds I’d actually hit it?” he laughed. “It’s okay to be scared or nervous, or however it is you’re feeling. This’ll be something you treasure forever.”

  
“What about you, Arthur? What about your first hunt?” The more Hosea had talked, the better you began to feel.

  
Arthur cleared his throat, and for a second, it looked like he was blushing. He smiled awkwardly when Hosea chuckled.

  
“Well, I-... I was real young and I didn’t know any better. So don’t go pickin’ fun,” he grumbled. “I went out by myself, I took my Daddy’s shotgun when he wasn’t home. I went into the woods by the edge of town, found some turkeys resting behind some bushes. I just aimed for the biggest one and shot it. The bird just _exploded_ , feathers were everywhere and not a bit of it was good. But I was proud it of. My shoulder hurt like hell for the next week or so after that.”

  
“What-! How old were you?” you asked. You had to bite your lip to hold back your laughter.

  
“Seven,” he groaned.

  
“Seven years old!” You squealed before succumbing to your laughter. Sure, a seven year old should never touch a gun or let alone be strong enough to handle it, but the ridiculousness of it all had you in stitches.

  
“It barely even counts though, I didn’t know what I was doing!” he defended, face going red.

  
“Oh, it counts dear boy!” Hosea said through his laughter.

  
Arthur fell into an embarrassed silence, and the trip continued on quietly. You picked up speed once the ground flattened out some, and the path was rocky and winding. With the change of scenery, you could see the morning sun a little better as it began to creep higher and higher in the sky. The air got a little warmer the lower you went. The world was still mostly sleepy, just beginning to wake up.

  
As you sat behind Hosea, you realized something. It felt good to touch someone. You hadn’t really been hugged, or cuddled, or anything since the night Dutch rescued you. Sure, you’ve had friendly pats on the back, you’ve held their hands for comfort, but you never had truly embraced someone since that fateful night. So you hung on tight to Hosea as he cantered across the land, Arthur in tow. His warmth seeped into you. It was comforting. You were briefly reminded of all the times you’d lay in bed with your father and brothers on the lazy Sundays after breakfast. You’d pile like kittens, and laugh and play and sometimes fall asleep. But this time, the memory of your family didn’t make you sad. It made you smile a little, and you were thankful for those memories. You had plenty more to make now with your new family. A memory like this one.

  
“There’s the river,” Hosea said, startling you a little. “we cross it and head right up on that trail. We will be in Borcher’s Valley at about noon, I think.”

  
You pulled up your skirt into your lap just in case the river water was a little high. You were a bit excited to cross it; you hadn’t been so far from the cabin since you got there. As Hosea led his horse into the water, you watched it slosh and splash around Sweet Pea’s legs. When it was deep enough, you reached down and dragged your fingers through it. It was cold water, rushing down from the mountain. You felt sorry that the horses had to walk through it. But the current wasn’t strong, and it was easy to walk through. Once back on the path, you cozied back against Hosea, and he chuckled.

  
—————

  
Your fingers burned where the rope dug into them. The muscles all along your arm felt tight, and stiff as you held your place. Slowly, you sucked in a deep breath, all the way to your diaphragm, and let go. And the arrow shot silently through the air.

  
When a short-lived, high pitched squeal of a rabbit penetrated the air, you clamped your eyes shut. You lowered the bow with jittery hands and you felt your pulse rattling throughout your body. So much adrenaline was pumping through you your teeth rattled. You could hear your heart beating loudly in your own ears.

  
But once the rabbit stopped, the whole world suddenly went quiet.

  
It felt like minutes until you opened your eyes again. And when you did, you saw the dusty brown body of the rabbit lying in its side, long wooden arrow sticking up out of it like a flagpole. Tears rushed to your eyes when the reality of what you just did sank it, and all at once you felt guilty, proud, and excited all at once.

  
You startled when Hosea clapped a hand on your back. He was grinning from ear to ear, staring down at your kill like it was a 12-point Buck. You calmed slightly under his touch, the feel of his hand grounding you a little. It was hard to register exactly what he said while your body was still buzzing with excitement.

  
“You got ‘im! My god, what a shot! That was beautiful!” he gushed, and gently led you over to the rabbit’s corpse.

  
You stare at its lifeless body at your feet. The poor creature was limp, blood beginning to seep out of the puncture wound in its side. The eyes were wide open and glossed over. All you could do was stare at it and feel shame, but _damn, was it a good shot_.

  
“Alright now, I want you to pull the arrow out. It’s good and in there, so it’ll take a good tug to get it out, but you got it. Grab it as close to the skin as you can, and quickly pull it out,” Hosea said. He knelt down beside you, and you got on your own knees after him.

  
You put one hand on the rabbit’s soft body, and gripped the base of the arrow with the other. The fur was so, so soft, and the body was still warm. You sucked in a breath as not to cry, then yanked the arrow right out of the animal’s side. Blood sputtered out after it and leaked into the starch white of its belly.

  
“The girl’s a natural, Arthur!” Hosea praised brightly, taking the arrow from you and tucking it away into the quiver. “You woulda never guessed this was her first hunt.”

  
“Yeah,” Arthur mumbled, “I guess she ain’t too bad.”

  
“Now, we’re gonna skin it right here. We gotta work quick because of the puncture wound there, it could contaminate the meat,” Hosea said. “When you skin a rabbit, you grab it by the scruff of the neck, like this- it’s kind of like how you’d pick up a kitten or a puppy. And at about here, where the skin bunches there, you’re going to cut it. Here’s my knife. Don’t be afraid, now. He doesn’t feel pain anymore.”

  
You swallowed dryly, and squeezed the handle of Hosea’s knife. You gripped the scruff like he had, and forced yourself to watch as you made a rough incision on the back of the rabbit’s neck. The head sagged, and it made you feel a bit queasy.

  
“That’s it! Good job. Now, turn it over and cut the skin of the stomach all the way up to its throat. Don’t pierce anything but skin, it helps to pull at the flesh there between the legs. Then, we’ll peel off the fur. It’s not as awful as it sounds, trust me. You’ll do just fine, dear.”

  
You did exactly as Hosea said. It was difficult to stay careful around the stomach, but you eventually got it. It was a quiet process and the knife slid easily along the hare’s belly once you got it going. Once you finished, Hosea took the knife from you and set it down.

  
“We’re gonna take off its hide now. I think it’s easier just to grab it by the hind legs, hook your fingers into that opening by the neck, and pull back quick and easy. It’ll come right off, usually does if it’s a fresh kill,” he informed. He pointed to the rabbit’s long back legs, and you grabbed it by the feet and stuck your index and middle fingers into the first hole you made. It was slimy and gross, and you scowled as you ripped back the skin. It pulled off just until the tail, and Hosea laughed at the face you were making.

  
“That’s not too bad! Twist it around until it breaks off. Yes- just like that- there ya go! Okay, now just grab the skin left on the legs and pull it off, away from where you’re holding it.”

  
The flesh came off just like he said it would, and now you were holding a dripping, red corpse that you could barely believe was a rabbit, and two pieces of rabbit hide. Your initial excitement had worn off, and now you just felt kind of disgusted. Hosea took the rabbit from you, giving you some relief.

  
“I’ll teach you how to gut it another day. I’m gonna gut it and everything for now, and then we’ll head back to camp and have us some supper!” Hosea cheered. He settled down on the ground again, and began sawing at the feet and head. It was a gruesome sight, but he made quick work of it. You could tell he knew what he was doing. You couldn’t look away as he cut into its stomach and pulled out all the gross bits with his bare hand.

  
“How you feelin’?” Arthur asked as you both watched Hosea work.

  
“I-I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Right now, I just feel kinda gross,” you replied. Your feelings were plainly expressed in your tone of voice, and Arthur laughed.

  
“Yeah, it’s a bit messy. Ain’t a pretty sight, not really. But it’s good to know. You’ll use it later, trust me,” Arthur said, crossing his arms. He seemed relaxed, and almost in a tired way. Like maybe he was bored.

  
“You skinned stuff before?” you asked, a bit surprised.

  
He nodded. “Yep. Rabbit, deer, an elk, once. I only ever skinned my own kill a few times, Hosea or Dutch usually just have me do it for ‘em. I don’t mind it too much. It ain’t all that bad once you get used to it.”

  
“I don’t know how you could,” you grumble, wiping your bloody fingers on your grey skirt. “It don’t even look like it was an animal.”

  
He chuckled, and patted your shoulder before gently taking the two furs away from you. He looked them over, and gave it a nod.

  
“These really ain’t too bad. Maybe we can take it over to the tanner or the fence, and have him make it Into somethin’,” he said.

  
You looked at him, a bit confused. “What could I make outta that? It’s kinda small.”

  
“Well, a little coin purse or somethin’, maybe. You might be able to get a mitten out of it. Your hands are kinda small.”

  
You looked down at your hand, and extended your fingers. A part of you was a little offended he called them small. You wanted to be tough, like he was, or like Hosea. But in order to be anywhere near tough, you’d have to be able to shoot your dinner without crying.

  
Seeing your outstretched hand, Arthur placed his over yours. You blushed when your palms touched, and instantly forgot about the rabbit you just killed. Little shocks went through you, up your arm, and had your heart stuttering. He gazed down at the size difference of your hands. His fingers were much, much longer than yours. His hand was rough with work, and fingers were thick. You missed the contact when he pulled away and held that hand over the rabbit fur.

  
“Yeah, you could get a pair of mittens. I know it’s June, but it’d do good in the winter. They’re pretty warm,” he said. He spoke like nothing had happened. Maybe he just didn’t the same way you did. You nodded quietly.

  
“Alright, kids, I got our provisions for the night,” Hosea interrupted. He held up a good fist or two sized bundle wrapped in white cloth that was covered in growing red splotches. “He had some meat on him, that’s for sure!”

  
“Is that enough for all of us?” Arthur asked.

  
“Don’t you worry. I brought some bread and a can of beans, too. We’re gonna have ourselves a feast, to celebrate Y/N’s first ever hunt!” Hosea cheered. You all followed after him as he walked back to where the horses were hitched.

  
You blushed faintly, and looked down at your boots. You heard Hosea laugh, and you sensed them looking st you.

  
“How did it feel?” Hosea asked.

  
After ripping the poor thing’s flesh off and seeing it’s nasty, gooey mutilated body, it didn’t feel very good. But now that those feelings had worn off some, you got to reflect on it a little bit. Arthur was right when he said an exhilarating rush came with the very first kill. You were scared at first, but the way Hosea had guided you through everything made you feel okay about it afterwards. All in all, it was a little hard to tell exactly how you felt.

  
“It felt... it felt scary,” you answered, as honest as you could.

  
“Scary?” Hosea repeated. He wasn’t judging, simply only inquiring. “How so?”

  
“‘Cause I killed it. I killed a poor little animal, it didn’t know it was gonna die,” you said.

  
“No, it didn’t. But you have to remember animals don’t think like we do. They don’t have a conscience, they don’t know right from wrong. They only know life and death. They live to die most times, Y/N. That rabbit you got did. It’s like I said earlier, that’s just the way it is. All we can do is be grateful for what they’ve given us. In this case, it’s a hot supper,” Hosea said.

  
When you got back to the horses, Hosea unhitched them and mounted Sweet Pea after helping you up. You all rode back to the campsite in silence. It seemed like everyone had understood that you needed it, to really think about what Hosea said. That there was life and there was death. And that’s the way it is. You closed your eyes, and despite it seeming a little silly, you prayed to the rabbit. You thanked it for its life, so that it may die and give back to life. Arthur had rolled up the pelt and tucked it away into his saddle bag.

  
When you came back to the camp, Arthur started up the fire. You hitched the horses to a tree by the tent you and Arthur set up, and found a place around the newly ignited campfire. Hosea was already digging up dinner. He said he’d let the fire burn a little first, apparently that effected how the meat cooked. Arthur came up to sit beside you on the ground, and toyed at the flames with a long and skinny stick.

  
“It turned out to be a real nice evenin’,” Hosea said as he looked up at the darkening sky. You hadn’t realized just how fast the sun had set. It shocked you a little bit, and you gazed up at what stars began to form as night crept in.

  
“Yeah,” Arthur mumbled, even though he didn’t really have to say anything.

  
“Tomorrow we’ll see about catchin’ a deer,” said the older man. He mentioned it earlier, but maybe he was just reminding himself of his plan.

  
And then it was quiet again, until Hosea decided it was time to put dinner on. He put a pan on the fire and laid out the rabbit meat in it, and stabbed a few holes into a can of beans before nestling it into the flames as well. He broke the bread and passed it out to you and Arthur to eat until the rabbit was done.

  
Once it was finished (or until Hosea nodded off and forgot about it for a good while), it was dished out with the beans. You were hesitant to eat it; when you looked at the hunks of the slightly charred meat, all you could think of was it’s weird skinless body. But Arthur urged you to eat it, and you did. It was tough, and gamey. It tasted a bit like chicken. You would have enjoyed it better if you hadn’t killed it, so you doused it in beans to try to make it more tolerable.

  
“That ain’t too bad,” Hosea said contently. “You did good, real good, Y/N dear. Especially for your first time! I’m real proud of you. You’re a goddamn natural, really. With more practice, you could best Arthur.”

  
“That ain’t very nice,” Arthur grumbled.

  
“Yeah it is,” Hosea teased, his mouth full, “You just don’t wanna accept that somebody might be better than ya are.”

  
Despite your mood, you giggled some. “Hosea! Don’t test the bear, he gets vicious!”

  
Hosea chuckled. “Aw, he’s harmless!”

  
Arthur shook his head as he stared hard into the fire. He was easy to set off, so you kept your mouth shut, but not without a smile. A tired silence fell over everyone, and it wasn’t broken until Hosea stuffed his empty bowl into his bag and stood up.

  
“Well kids,” he grunted, “I’m tired and full. I’m goin’ to head to bed. I trust you enough to put the dishes away before you head in, too. Don’t stay up too late, and don’t leave the camp, okay? Wake me if there’s trouble.”

  
You and Arthur nodded.

  
“Alright. Goodnight, dear children.”

  
“Goodnight, Hosea.”

  
“‘Night, Hosea.”

  
Then you and Arthur sat in silence.

  
You stare as the fire burned, the orange flames dancing slow against the embers. Fireflies flickered off in the trees, reflecting the twinkles stars that had now took over the sky. You sighed, all the tension of the day leaving you. You turned your attention to Arthur. His face was lit up in warm colors that made his eyelashes glow. His blue eyes shimmered beautifully in the light. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning toward him.

  
“Ya know, you really did do good today,” he said quietly.

  
“Thank you, Arthur,” you replied, just as softly.

  
“And I guess... I guess what Hosea said that one time was right. You shouldn’t let bein’ a woman stop you from doin’ things. ‘Specially if you’re good at it.”

  
“I wasn’t really good at that, Arthur. It was just luck.”

  
“Well, if it was luck, I hope it stays with ya. I think... I dunno, maybe you’ll need it more than the rest of us. I heard Miss Grimshaw and Dutch talkin’ a few times about it,” he murmured. He spoke so low you could barely hear him.

  
You blinked a bit dumbly at him, quiet for a moment before words found you. “Well, I... maybe I won’t need it. I have you guys with me. I think that’s more than I could ever ask for.”

  
He smiled briefly for a moment, eyes lowering to the ground. “Maybe, if you stay with us.”

  
“I been with you, what, nine.. nine months? I ain’t going anywhere. I don’t have anywhere to go, anyway.”

  
“We’re not... we’re not good _citizens_ , Y/N. You really wanna get into that?”

  
“Yeah,” you answered firmly, “I do. You found me for a reason and I ain’t gonna let go that easy. Not after all you’ve done for me. I can learn.”

  
“Learn to be a criminal?”

  
“A criminal with a _cause_. Like Dutch says. The world is tryna contain us, I see that now. We gotta fight against it. And I’m gong to, as long as I’ve got you with me.”

  
Arthur nodded. “Then you should probably stick to practicin’ with a gun. You got potential to be a real good shot. We might need that someday.”

  
You softly smiled. “Thanks, Arthur.”

  
“We should probably head off to bed. The fire will be fine to burn all night, the ground’s really too wet to start any fire.”

  
You nodded and scraped your left overs into the flames to be burned up, and then stuffed your dish as well as Arthur’s into Hosea’s bag. You hauled it into the tent, and froze a little.

  
Hosea had taken the bedroll on the furthest left, leaving you and Arthur to lay beside each other. You blushed and your stomach fluttered. You knew nothing was going to happen besides falling asleep, but the idea of being close to Arthur always had your cheeks going warm. Shyly, you crawled down onto the middle bed roll and began unlacing your boots as Arthur stooped down into the tent. You watched him hesitate for a moment, but he eventually joined you and pulled off his own shoes. You lied back and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, listening as Arthur did the same.

  
“Goodnight, Arthur,” you whispered.

  
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he mumbled in reply.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“Huh?”

  
“Thank you. For being my friend.”

  
“...Just get some sleep.”


	12. The Hunter and the Hart: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come to understand your own feelings with the help of the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw, finally. Plz enjoy

_*June 16, 1880*_

“Well, if it ain’t my little Annie Oakley!”

  
Dutch was standing on the porch of the cabin as you, Hosea, and Arthur rode up on the horses. He had on the biggest smile you’d ever seen him wear, lips lined with the beginnings of a mustache. He took off his hat, revealing his raven black hair that had grown considerably longer over the winter. He held out his arms wide, as if asking for a hug, or as if he was parting the waters of the Red Sea by miracle. It seemed like you hadn’t seen him in forever, but in reality, it had really only been one night.

  
“I ain’t Annie Oakley,” you grumbled. Hosea helped you off his horse after he dismounted. “I don’t even really know who that is.”

  
“She was a sharpshooter! Just about your age, too, won in a competition against a full-grown man! Somethin’ I learned back in the good old O-hi-o,” he replied grandly. He took a step down off the porch, twinkling.

  
Your face creased with confusion. “Wh- Ohio?”

  
Dutch chuckled, then shook his head. “Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart. I’ll tell you another time. But for now, show me your game, won’t ya?”

  
You cringed a little at his request, and led him over to Arthur’s horse. That morning, Hosea had you shoot a deer, like he said he would. You felt guilty as all hell for both enjoying and despising the thrill of it. The rush left your head spinning as the arrow pulled through the air, and planted itself into the neck of the buck you caught. Your mixed emotions had you feeling almost sick the entire ride home as you clung to Hosea’s back.

  
The buck wasn’t big, but it wasn’t entirely too small, either. It was tied up behind Arthur’s saddle, head drooped lifelessly by Black Beard’s flank. Its once big brown eyes were fogged over and grey. The hole in its neck was caked with blood, staining the rich yellow-brown coat of soft fur. It was a reminder of what you did to the innocent animal. Your mouth went dry as you looked over it. All you could do was stand there beside Dutch, fidgeting with the folds of your skirt with sweaty fingers. You felt dirty and twisted.

  
“Now that is one mighty fine animal,” Dutch praised. He patted the buck’s thick shoulder and then nodded to himself. He turned to you, then knelt down to meet you eye to eye. His hand clasped around the back of your neck gently, and he titled his head towards yours.

  
His brown eyes were beaming, full of so much pride and happiness. You wanted to be joyful about it, like he was, but you couldn’t even bring yourself up to smile back at him. Shame ate at you. You liked killing it. And Dutch was proud of you and he didn’t even know you felt that way.

  
“You did real good, my dear. You made me real proud, and I already know you’re gonna do a lot of great things one day. You’ve been so, so brave, Y/N,” Dutch whispered, as if he only wanted you to hear. He gave you a pat on the shoulder before standing up and reaching a hand into the breast pocket of his white shirt. You watched as he pulled out a cigarette and matchbox and lit the rolled tobacco.

  
“She’s a real natural, Dutch. No doubt she’ll be huntin’ a lot more!” Hosea said as he began unloading the saddlebags. He was full of smiles, too.

  
Dutch’s gaze passed over you again. “Oh, I know she will. Ya know, she’s got a real eye on ‘er. A steady hand. When she shoots with me, she does real well. You’re gonna best the West’s wildest gunslingers one day, doll.”

  
You blushed under his compliment, though you didn’t feel worthy of it. You weren’t that good. It usually took you two or three shots to hit your target, while Arthur usually got his first try. They should be praising him, not you.

  
You looked over at Arthur, and were surprised to see he wasn’t scowling or frowning like he usually did when they were fussing like this. Instead, he had a soft smile and a content look in his eyes. He caught your stare, and nodded. You blushed harder, then looked to your feet.

  
“Hosea, why don’t you get started on cuttin’ up that deer? Arthur, go and put the horses up, would ya? Y/N and I are gonna put these here supplies away, then she’s gonna tell me all about her first ever huntin’ trip,” Dutch said. His voice was full of fatherly pride, and it was warming to hear. It made you feel a little better.

  
“Alright then,” Hosea chirped, before nodding at Arthur. “Wanna help me out when your done, boy?”

  
“Sure,” Arthur replied. He gathered up the horses’ reins and led them back to the shabby lean-to livestock shed behind the cabin, after Hosea took the buck down.

  
Dutch turned you towards the porch, where all the camping and hunting supplies were set. There wasn’t a whole lot, since the trip was only one night, but a lot of it was heavy. Fortunately, Dutch handled that, while you scooped up the bed rolls, your bag, and some light arsenal. Miss Grimshaw kindly opened the door for the both of you, and helped you and Dutch put it all away.

  
“Tell me everything,” Dutch said, excitement unshielded. He sank down onto a stool in the parlor. You followed after him.

  
“Well,” you sighed as you got comfortable on a rickety chair, “I... Well, we... we went down into Borcher’s valley, and me ‘n Arthur had the tent set up. After that, we went lookin’ for something to eat, and we found a rabbit. Hosea had me get it with the bow, and I, Well- I shot him right in the side,” you explained. You twiddled your thumbs in your lap as you spoke. Recounting the memory had you feeling guilty all over again, and the way Dutch gave out his undivided attention made you shy.

  
“Oh, come on. Make it sound more _exciting_ than that,” he jested. “The first hunt is exciting! Tell, how did it feel.”

  
“It felt... it felt... I dunno,” you stammered. Your cheeks went hot and throat went tight. Inwardly, you scolded yourself for almost crying again. You quickly averted your eyes.

  
Dutch took on a softer, kinder tone, like he realized how you were feeling. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as he murmured, “Hey, no need to fuss, sweetheart. It’s alright, now. Did you not like it?”

  
“It was fine,” you sniffed, eyes on the floorboards, “I just- I was kinda scared at first, ya know? ‘Cause, well, I ain’t really done anything like that before and it was just a poor little rabbit, didn’t do a thing to deserve gettin’ killed like that... and then I ate ‘im. I feel guilty, Dutch.”

  
“What’s there to feel guilty for? He didn’t even know he died, darling. Critters like him, well, they just wait around to be somebody’s meal,” Dutch cooed.

  
With a sigh, you wiped at your face. “I know, that’s kinda what Hosea said. Killin’ things, I-.. Dutch, when I shot that deer, it felt like... like, I don’t know, there’s nothin’ to compare it to. It was such a rush, my heart was beating so fast and it felt like nothin’ else was there besides the deer, the arrow, and me. And it didn’t stop feelin’ like that until we found it. It took off in the woods, and we hunted it down until it was _really_ dead, and when I saw it there, on the ground, I almost smiled. It... it was fun, i liked it, but I feel so bad ‘cause it was just an innocent animal, didn’t do no wrong, and I-“ you had to stop yourself and take a deep breath to keep from crying.

  
Dutch’s lips turned up in a small smile, and he leaned over to pat your knee. He looked the kindest you had ever seen him look in that moment.

  
“It ain’t wrong to feel that way, Y/N. Humans, we are predators by nature. We hunt to survive, like we always have, and how it always should be. That’s why there’s that thrill, that rush you talked about. We are hunters, it’s in our blood. We hunger, so we take, and in return, we give our thanks. You feel guilty, because you know what is fair and what isn’t fair, which I commend you on. Sure, that deer didn’t do anyone any harm, but it’s had neither a malicious, or benevolent thought. It might know pain, but that is the extent of its knowledge. It means something to feel something, and what you felt was normal. You shouldn’t be ashamed or guilted. You were only surviving, dear. There is no sin in that,” Dutch explained.

  
You chewed your lip as you considered his words. Dutch was always complaining against the modern society, and preached about a Hunter-gatherer world. And you wanted to believe in that, too, but after taking an animal’s life, you weren’t so sure. Dutch made sense, though. If man were not meant to hunt, we wouldn’t hunt. There isn’t any sin in surviving. The desire to live is normal. It’s natural.

  
“I... I guess you’re right. I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

  
“Don’t apologize when there is nothin’ to be sorry for,” Dutch said sternly. He stood up and stood in front of you, leaned over to hold your hand. “You are a brave girl, Y/N. I am so proud of you. You’re clever, and kind, and we need more people like you. You’ve grown a lot in the past few months, and you’re becoming a real strong woman. Look how far you’ve come, Y/N. Look how _far_.”

  
Upon reflection, you had grown, in every since of the word. You were recovering from your grief day by day, and learning how to live this wild life, learning about the real world. When Dutch found you, you were just a girl and not much else. You thought the world was waiting on you to grow up, when in reality, the world doesn’t stop and it doesn’t care. It’s colder than ice and waits for no one. Neither does time, or love, or happiness. When Dutch said American government encourages apathy, it made sense to you. Your family was killed over American money, something that only has value because an old, dead white guy said it did and no one questioned it. Dutch opened your eyes, and let you grow. Without him, you’d still be a dumb, clueless little girl, quick to trust, without reasoning, without knowledge. That, or dead. You had come so far. _Look how far you’ve come_.

  
“Thank you,” you whispered. So much was going through your head, but that’s all you could say and it meant more than two words could describe.

  
Dutch smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, dear. Now, I’m going to see if I can go help Hosea out some. I’m quite hungry and cannot wait to partake of the wonderful feast we’re gonna have tonight.”

  
And with that, he was gone. You stare at the door after he left, and when Miss Grimshaw waved a hand in front of your face, you jumped.

  
“Welcome home, Y/N. I know you’d much rather settle in, but I will not have a young lady like yourself looking so... soiled. Come now, I’ve had a bath prepared for you and the water has just about gone cold. Come on, up, up!” she said, and practically pulled you up out of your chair.

  
The “bathtub” was just an old metal drinking trough for horses. You’d bathed in it several times since October, mostly because Miss Grimshaw insisted she kept you clean “as a lady should be”. You never argued though, because it always felt good to scrub the grease and grime off your body. And today, you felt especially dirty.

  
The trough has since been moved outside since the weather was warm now, tucked away behind the cabin. It was filled to the brim with boiled creek water, now gone cold. The suds from the soap were now flat and left the water murky. You didn’t really care, it’d get you clean in the end. Miss Grimshaw gave you a towel and sat on the grass a ways away, making sure no one was peeking as you scrubbed away.

  
—————

“How you feelin’?”

  
At the sound of Arthur’s voice, you turned around to face him. He was leaned against the doorframe that joined the parlor and little kitchen room, his hair tousled, sleeves of his shirt rolled up high. His fingers were stained with blood and he held them out from his body.

  
“I’m okay,” you replied before you returned to your task of cutting of carrots. “Just... it feels like a lot has happened already.”

  
He nodded, even though you didn’t see it. He came up beside you and wiped his hands off on a ratty dish towel left out on the counter. You didn’t scold him; Miss Grimshaw would do that and she didn’t need your help.

  
“A lot _has_ happened,” Arthur replied. He leaned his back against the counter beside you. “There ain’t no denying that.”

  
“I guess so.”

  
“I could tell you were a little bit, uh... disturbed, or somethin’ when we got back. I was wonderin’... if maybe you’d wanna talk about it,” he mumbled.

  
You sighed softly. You weren’t annoyed at all, but you sort of wanted to leave the subject alone. But, Arthur was your friend and did deserve to know.

  
“I already talked to Dutch about it, and he told me it was normal in that preachy way of his, but... I feel guilty for enjoying hunting. I mean, killing it felt bad because it didn’t do anything to me, but it just... I dunno,” you said.

  
“It’s fun. It’s an experience unique to anything else. I understand,” Arthur replied. You glanced up at him as he crossed his arms. His face was free of judgment.

  
“Y-Yeah. I just, feel like it shouldn’t be. Ya know..?”

  
“Sure. I get where you’re comin’ from. The feeling goes away after a while, the more you hunt. Hosea is right about it. And Dutch probably is too, whatever he told you. Things gotta die so we can live,” Arthur said.

  
You scraped the chopped carrots into a tin bowl, then turned to face him. You leaned your hip against the counter. Another sigh left you, and that’s when he reached out to gingerly touch your arm. Your eyes shot to his.

  
“It’s okay. It really is. You did good. It ain’t like you killed it just to kill it. We ain’t _that_ cruel,” he said softly. Arthur wasn’t ever really the best at comfort, you had come to realize. But the sentiment and intention behind his words was always more consoling than what he actually said.

  
“No, but one day we might _have_ to be. And I ain’t gonna be able to do a damn thing ‘cause... ‘cause I feel guilty about everythin’ I do,” you grumbled. Your fingers found the drawstring that gathered your skirt at your waist.

  
“Well... I ain’t gonna say you’re wrong about that. ‘Cause bein’ as we are there ain’t really too much tellin’ what we’ll have to do. And if you’re sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’, we’ll have to do our best so it don’t come to that,” he replied. He briefly squeezed your arm before dropping his hand.

  
“Arthur... I... one of the reasons I went huntin’ with you all is ‘cause I wanted to see if I could shoot something. I wanted to see if I could really kill something,” you confessed. You hated how your heart thumped loudly and your eyes stung.

  
“Why?” he asked. His brows drew low over his eyes and he stood up straight.

  
“It wasn’t to be mean, or nothin’, really, it wasn’t. I _am_ thankful for that deer, and that rabbit, but... after seeing what happened to my Papa and brothers, I got to thinkin’ that might happen to me one day. Or you guys, and it might come down to me to help myself or others. There’s not always gonna be someone to rescue me, like Dutch, or luck to save my hide. If I could kill an animal, I thought, I could kill a man who did me, and you, or _anyone_ , wrong,” you explained.

  
Arthur was quiet as he thought about what you said. He nodded in understanding, then met your eyes again.

  
“You’re right,” he said, “sometimes you do gotta stick up for yourself. And it’s a good thing, to know that, but... you got us. We are gonna do all we can so you don’t gotta do nothin’ like that.”

  
You nodded in silence. As tears began to spill down your cheeks, you looked to the floor, your chin meeting your chest so Arthur wouldn’t see them. It was all in vain, however, because he knew what was wrong immediately.

  
“Hey, what’chu cryin’ for?” he asked gently, but awkwardly. “Ain’t nothin’ bad gonna happen.”

  
“I know, I-I just-!” You couldn’t finish what you were saying; you erupted into a burst of tears.

  
As you stood there, folded in on yourself, long damp hair falling around your face like a curtain, Arthur felt really awkward. Useless, almost. All he could do was watch you cry, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, or how to treat you. Yeah, he’s seen you cry, but it was never really him to comfort you. Nervously, he shifted his weight until he came up with something.

  
He reached up and put a hand on the back of your neck, like he’d seen Dutch do countless times. He guided you closer to him, and you didn’t protest or pull away. You let yourself lean against him, head tucked beneath his chin. He kept his hand there, and he shyly wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Arthur felt himself begin to sweat a little, and he didn’t know if it was because he was hugging you, or because he was so damn awkward about it all.

  
“Shh,” he whispered, “it’s... it’s okay, I promise.” He cringed at himself.

  
“I’m just so grateful f-for you, and Hosea, and Dutch, and e-even Miss Grimshaw,” You wailed into his chest, “I woulda been- I would be dead if it weren’t for you all, and you treat me all so kind and I haven’t d-done a damn thing to deserve it. All I do is whine like.. like a _baby_ and you still treat me like I ain’t.”

  
Arthur almost laughed. Sure, you did cry a lot, and you did whine sometimes and on some days you really got in his hair, but all in all, you weren’t bad. As much as it annoyed him how Dutch babied you, you were his friend. He always found himself feeling better when you were around, and he liked teasing you and goofing off. It was safe to say you just about his best friend.

  
“You’re with us now,” he said, “we gotta stay close. And you ain’t so bad.”

  
A made a choked sound, and at first Arthur thought you were sobbing even harder, until you pulled away enough to look up at him. Through all your tears, you were smiling a little.

  
“Thank you, Arthur,” you said. Your voice was shaky, but something else was there.

  
“What for?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  
“Trying to help me,” you answered, “even though your real goddamn _bad_ at it.”

  
“What- I- no I ain’t!”

  
You laughed, and he found himself unable to be mad. He knew he wasn’t the best. And he appreciated your honesty, but really, the sound of your giggles made him feel good.

  
“You are. But I appreciate it, I really do. It makes me feel better, somehow,” you said.

  
“Well... that’s the goal, I guess,” he mumbled awkwardly. You took a step back from him, and wiped your face clear of tears.

  
“I’m the dumbest girl alive,” you said through choked laughter.

  
“What you sayin’ that for?” Arthur asked.

  
“Just ‘cause I am,” you replied, but your voice was lighthearted. “Cryin’, mopin’, can’t do a damn thing by myself.”

  
“That ain’t really true.”

  
“Yes it is, and you know it. How about you make yourself useful now and peel those potatoes?”

  
“Well, in that case, I gotta get going,” Arthur said, and he found himself smiling.

  
“Sit down, Arthur. Are you really that quick to leave a lady behind, all by yourself?”

  
“You were alone when I found ya, and doing just fine. For the most part, at least.”

  
You snorted, and shook your head. You moved over the the table where some potatoes were laid out and already washed, and sat down. You picked up a small knife, and were genuinely surprised when Arthur sat across from you and picked up a potato.

  
“Ever eat one raw?” he asked, causally, like it wasn’t an absurd question.

  
“No,” you answered as you began peeling, “I’ve always eaten ‘em boiled.”

  
“It tastes just like an apple.”

  
“I don’t believe ya for a second, mister.”

  
“No, you gotta try it. Watch, I’ll prove it,” he said. Before you could even ask how, he took a big bite out of the raw potato and chewed it. Your mouth fell open, and all you could do was stare as he ate it, just like it was an apple.

  
“See?” he said, offering it to you, “It ain’t so bad! An apple.”

  
You laughed, good and hard, until your sides were hurting and you couldn’t breath. Arthur chuckled, and pulled out his own knife and began peeling the potato he just bit.

  
“Arthur, you’re a dumbass!” you squealed, clutching your stomach.

  
“I know,” he said, contentment in his voice. “You ain’t gotta tell me.”

  
“Miss Grimshaw’s gonna be mad if she sees at hunk of half-eaten potato in her stew,” you laughed, cheeks rosy.

  
He shook his head with a smile. “She ain’t gonna know.”

  
You felt better. Much better than you had earlier. Your heart swelled in your chest as you gaze at Arthur, his expression content.

  
“Why’d you do that?” you asked through a grin, incredulously.

  
“I really just wanted to hear you laugh,” he admitted shyly. He didn’t meet your eyes and instead focused on his potato.

  
You exploded into a blush, your chest and stomach fluttering. You were embarrassed, flattered, and everything all at once at his words. It shocked you even, so much so you almost slipped up and cut open your thumb. It seemed like minutes until you found your tongue, and when you did, you cringed at your own words.

  
“Oh, shut up, Arthur,” you grumbled.

  
He laughed, and helped you peel the rest of the potatoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that when Arthur was younger he hasn’t as Cold™️ as he is when he’s an old man, so that’s why he seems a little ooc. Thank you for reading!!!!! Ily


	13. Man’s Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the gang travels south to strike some gold, Arthur finds a new tag along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter!! I hope you guys enjoy it I love all of you sm

_*August 7, 1880*_

It was hot, hotter than hell could ever be. The humid summer air was thick with heat and flies, and it stuck to your skin. Every part of you was covered in sweat, and the loose hairs that your braid didn’t catch, were plastered to your damp cheeks and forehead. Sweat was in your eyes, the crease of your elbows, and beneath your clothes. It was unbearable. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky to alleviate the town of Woodhurst, Texas, from the angry, burning sun.

  
You leaned back against the wagon as it wobbled and bumped along the road. The land around here stretched for miles and miles, until it rose into the occasional butte, the rock tall, and orange. Cacti stood erect by their lonesome out of the sandy soil, shadows almost nonexistent as the sun stood high overhead. Time seemed to move slower this far down south. Everything looked the same in the Texan panhandle. Just land, and more land, some rocks and a cactus. You’d never been so far down, but you decided you weren’t missing too much. Boiling in your own sweat wasn’t worth the visit to the Lone Star State.

  
Dutch had decided to move everyone again. For what reason, you weren’t too sure, but it must have been serious if he thought Texas was the place to be. It took almost two nights to cross the border, and you hated every minute of it. You, Arthur, and Miss Grimshaw were stuffed in the back of the only wagon you had with all the supplies, the third horse trailing along by a tether. There was hardly any leg room, and you were miserable in the suffocating heat. It was hard to sleep in it, but just as hard to stay awake. Everything was so boring.

  
“Finally!” you heard the rich voice of Dutch croak, and you spun your head around to look at him sitting up on the bench. “We’ve reached the goddamn town!”

  
You sat up, craning your neck to see if you could catch a glimpse of the town. All you could see through the rising waves of heat were distance dark lumps. Those must be buildings.

  
“It’s about fuckin’ time,” Arthur growled. He was sat across from you, between a few crates and a bale of hay. His shirt was untucked, unbuttoned, and drenched in sweat. His sleeves were rolled up clear to his bicep, and you’d never seen him look more uncomfortable. He took off his hat, brushed his fingers over his sweat-slicked hair, then shoved his cap back on. The brim shaded his eyes from the resilient sun.

  
“I can’t wait to get out of this goddamn wagon,” you said, squirming with anticipation. “If I sit here any longer, I’m gonna drown in my own sweat.”

  
“You’re tellin’ me!” he quipped, “I could put out the flames of hell just by wringing out my shirt!”

  
You cracked a small smile despite how miserable you felt. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Looks like you just went swimming with your clothes on.”

  
“It feels like it.”

  
“Your complainin’ ain’t helping with this heat,” Miss Grimshaw snarled as she fanned herself. She didn’t look any better than the rest of you. Her bun was drooping and dark with perspiration, and her nose and chin glistened. Her face was sun-burnt to the point of peeling, but she didn’t even roll up the sleeves of her dress, or even take off her shoes.

  
“You’re the one choosin’ to be so miserable,” Arthur replied.

  
“I’d much rather keep my dignity and modesty than present myself like a whore, heat or no heat,” she said bitterly. “I suppose I’m the only who really cares about that.” She glanced over at you, and how your blouse was undone a few buttons, and your skirt was gathered at your knees.

  
“If you wanna be burnt to a crisp, that’s fine by me,” Arthur said. He looked out towards the little town, obviously done arguing with her. Your eyes briefly traveled the line of his jaw before you followed his gaze.

  
As you passed a large wooden sign that read ‘WOODHURST’, relief washed over you. People who were dumb enough to stay outside in the heat watched the wagon as it rode by. The whole town was mostly quiet, and it wasn’t very big, either. A few shops lined the street on both sides. The wagon didn’t stop until it reached a stable.

  
“Alright, everyone!” Dutch said as he climbed down, “we’re gonna stop here and rest a moment. We’ll cool down, get something to drink, and water these horses. We need to stock up on supplies, then be on our way. Meet up back here before sunset.”

  
“We’re gonna ride at night?” Arthur asked after he jumped off the wagon. You followed after him.

  
“I don’t think I can stand to sit in the sun any longer than I have,” Dutch replied. He looked disheveled, and just as sweaty as everyone else. It rolled down his temples, dripped off his chin, stained his shirt, and coated him in a salty sheen.

  
“It’s a lot cooler at night,” Hosea said as he helped Miss Grimshaw down. “As long as we have our lanterns lit and eyes open, we’ll be just fine.”

  
“Speaking of _fine_ , say out of trouble,” Dutch said. He pointed a finger at everyone, his head tilted low. “We can’t afford to stir anything up here, not yet. We’re just passing through, on our way to San Antonio for work. Spend your money wisely, folks. Now, I’m gonna take care of these horses and then ask around. Figure out anything if you can. Go get yourselves something to drink, now.”

  
As Dutch began strolling into the stables, you and Arthur turned to face the town. It seemed almost abandoned, with how shabby everything looked. Residents hidden away beneath the awnings of the shops stare you both down, and suddenly you remembered to button your shirt back up.

  
“Alright now,” Arthur said as he began adjusting his own clothes, “let’s go.”

  
You walked close to Arthur, despite how hot it was. “What did Dutch mean ‘figure out what you can’?”

  
“He means see if you can find any leads. Ya know, a way to make some money,” Arthur answered. His steps were heavy with exhaustion, and they thudded loudly against the wooden floors of the stores’ porches.

  
“Like robbin’ somebody?” you asked.

  
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “But yes, like robbin’ somebody. You don’t worry about that right now.”

  
You followed him into the doors of what looked like a saloon. When you pushed through after him, you noticed how everyone stopped and stared. Your skin crawled as they watched you and Arthur walk up to the bar. Everything was unfamiliar; you’d never been in a place like this before. Nervously, you kept to Arthur’s side, eyeing everyone else in the room. It was mostly full grown men sitting at tables with bottles in their hands.

  
“Aren’t you two a bit young to be in here?” the bartender asked as he wiped down a glass. He raised a dark brow at you two, his even darker eyes looking tired.

  
“We’re old enough to get a glass or two of water, ain’t we?” Arthur said. “We been travelin’ all damn day and it’s hotter than hell out there.”

  
“You got money?”

  
“‘Course I got money,” Arthur growled. He fished a few coins out from his sticky pocket, then tossed them onto the counter.

  
Unimpressed, the bartender scooped them up then poured out two tall glasses of water. Arthur eagerly took his up and began chugging it, while you took yours timidly. You had to pry your gaze from a particularly nasty looking man in the corner. The taste of the water was sweet, and refreshing. The desert that was your mouth was quickly satisfied.

  
“Is that all?” the bartender asked.

  
“For now,” Arthur bit back, then prowled over to a small, empty table in the corner of the saloon. Quickly, you followed after him, and took a seat across from him once he sat down.

  
“I don’t like this place very much,” you murmured into your glass. “They’re all starin’... and it’s making me nervous.”

  
Arthur shifted his weight a little, and looked out at the crowd. His blue eyes were shaded by the low brim of his hat, and his shoulders were square. He didn’t seem to be enjoying the silent attention any more than you were.

  
“Don’t pay them no mind,” he said, “people get like this when someone’s new in town. Southerners ain’t really all that friendly, either.”

  
“Why not?” you whispered, leaning over the table.

  
Anxiously, he glanced at you then back out again. “They don’t particularly like your kind.”

  
You blinked. Throughout your whole life, you’d never really had anyone say too much about your race. You figured it was because it wasn’t very obvious your mother was a Native American, apart from your dark eyes and dark hair. Suddenly, you were very self conscious. Could they really tell that easily?

  
“Lovely,” you grumbled.

  
“Yeah, they ain’t too fond of anything that ain’t got white skin,” he said. He patted your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. “You’ll be fine. Just, like I said, pay them no mind. We’re ‘too young’ to be in here, anyway.”

  
“Why’d Dutch bring us all the way out here, anyway?”

  
Finally, Arthur set his gaze on you. “Somethin’ ‘bout a stagecoach deliverin’ some gold. It’s supposed to be a lot of it, or so he says.”

  
“How’d he hear about that?” you asked.

  
“From Colm, I’m guessin’. At least that’s what Hosea told me.”

  
“Colm...,” you tasted the name. “Colm O’Driscoll?”

  
Arthur nodded.

  
“I remember Dutch said somethin’ about how they might have been the ones who robbed my papa,” you said. You didn’t feel sad at the memory, just more angry than anything else.

  
“Yeah, I heard him say that, too. It might’a been, there’s really no tellin’,” Arthur replied.

  
“Why would Dutch go and trust someone who he thinks would kill an innocent family?” you growled.

  
“Listen,” Arthur sighed, “Dutch and Colm got their own kinda strange understandin’. I ain’t sayin’ it’s good, and I ain’t sayin’ it’s right. But we really ain’t any better than they are. And if Dutch is still in operation with that bastard, that’s fine. We gotta trust him. He wouldn’t put us in harms way if he could help it.”

  
You looked down at your lap and finished the rest of your water in silence. No, you didn’t know who those three bad men were. Maybe your father didn’t even know. He was desperate enough to loan money from criminals, so he died desperately. You tried to justify it that way in your head, but the more you tried, the angrier it made you. You sighed, and shook the thought from your mind. Being upset would help nothing right now.

  
“Alright, come on. Let’s check out the post office,” Arthur said as he stood up. You followed him as he pushed through the saloon doors.

  
“Why the post office?” you asked. You wilted at the sun’s contact, immediately feeling a hundred pounds heavier in the light. As you walked across the road, you and Arthur kicked up the dry dirt. You held your hand over your eyes to shield them from the light as you looked at him.

  
“See if we can find out any news,” he answered shortly.

  
“About what?”

  
“Anythin’. Trains, money, bounties, whatever.”

  
“Why would we need that?”

  
“You’re just full of questions, ain’t ya?” Arthur grumbled. He stepped up onto the porch to the post office.

  
“Sorry,” you whimpered.

  
The post office was small. There was a man behind a barred up desk who looked half-asleep. A few benches were placed in the middle of the room, and an entire wall was dedicated to papers, advertisements, and wanted posters. A few men and a woman were talking over in the corner, and one you recognized to be Hosea. You smiled to yourself, and let Arthur pull you along.

  
As you stood in front of the wall of papers, your eyes looked over the wanted posters. You didn’t recognize any of them, and a part of you hoped to see one of those men who killed your family.

  
“Ah, shit. I need to run to the general store for some matches. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere. Stay put, don’t move an inch, ya hear me?” Arthur said. His eyes were stern, just like his voice, and you nodded.

  
“Yeah, I hear you,” you grumbled. You didn’t want to be alone in this strange town, but you figured not too much trouble could stir up in a post office. And Hosea was just across the room. You didn’t know if he noticed you or not.

  
“Alright. Look over this board and see if you can find anything interesting,” he said, then quickly disappeared out the door.

  
You sighed, and looked from paper to paper. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be looking for, but you figured there really wasn’t very much here. Most of it was advertisements and newspaper clippings. A note about women’s suffrage caught your eye, and you began to read it, when a touch on your shoulder startled you. With wide eyes, you spun around, just to see the grinning face of Hosea.

  
“Jesus! You scared me half to death,” you hissed. Hosea only laughed.

  
“My apologizes, dear. What are ya lookin’ at?” he asked, putting his arm around your shoulders. You turned back to the board.

  
“Not a lot, really. Arthur said there might be some kind of information here, but I’m not seeing it,” you sighed.

  
“Hm. Sometimes there’s good things to know, like if there’s a poster of one of our faces here. Where’d that boy run off to, anyway?”

  
“To the general store, somethin’ about matches. Told me to stay here.”

  
Hosea chuckled. “He’s an idiot sometimes, ya know that? Leavin’ a girl by her lonesome.”

  
“I know. But hey, Hosea, Arthur told me Dutch is goin’ after some gold? Said Colm told him about it?” you asked.

  
“Ah, yes. That’s what brought us here to _literal hell_. There’s a stagecoach planned to ride through this town a few weeks from now, it’s full of gold, apparently. A wealthy man named Franklin Via owns it, I guess. One of Colm’s myriads of cousins mentioned it, and Dutch said he’d take it. To be honest with you, I don’t think it’s worth all the trouble it took to get down here. I can’t trust Colm as far I can throw him.”

  
“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I never met the guy and I don’t like ‘im.”

  
“With good reason,” Hosea said. “But don’t you worry about that right now, we’ll get along just fine. Let’s go find Arthur. There’s nothin’ worth our time here.”

  
“Alright, then.”

  
Once you stepped outside, you spotted Arthur walking up to the building. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, and was looking down at the hat in his hands, despite him already wearing one. You smiled a little at the sight of him, and when he noticed you and Hosea standing on the steps, he stopped. He looked a little surprised.

  
“I thought I told you to look over the board,” he said, eyes shifting between you and Hosea.

  
“She did,” Hosea replied, “and I can confirm there was nothing of value there.”

  
Arthur looked flustered. “Well- fine, then.”

  
You stepped down beside him, and nodded towards the hat in his hands. “That’s a little more than just some matches.”

  
“It’s... here,” he thrusted it towards you, not meeting your eyes. “I figured I’d save my ears from all the complainin’ you’d be doin’ ‘bout the sun in your eyes.”

  
You took it gently, surprised. It was black gamblers hat, with a wide, flat brim, and flat crown. There was a decorative brown leather band around it, patterned with a feather-like texture. It was pretty, and the sunburn on your cheeks hid your blush. For a moment, all you could do was spin it around in your hands and stare.

  
“Oh... thank you, Arthur. That’s... that’s so kind of you, it must have been expensive, I-”

  
“Hush,” he grumbled, “one thank you is enough. Come on, let’s go.”

  
You glanced at Hosea, and the knowing look he gave you made you feel shy.

  
“Alright then, kids. I’m gonna go find Dutch. Go kill some time if you want, we’ve got a few hours before sundown,” Hosea said. He patted Arthur’s shoulder, then tipped his hat at you. “Stay out of trouble!”

  
Once he turned and left, you put on your new hat. It fit you just right, and a strange kind of excitement bubbled up in your chest. You felt giddy, and couldn’t contain the smile that grew on your face.

  
“You’re sweeter than you wanna let on, Arthur,” you cooed. You watched him shake his head as you walked side by side towards the stables.

  
“Cut it out,” he said, “I was just doing myself a favor.”

  
“Uh huh,” you smiled, “whatever you say, boy.”

  
“ _Oh, goddammit! I shoulda drowned ya when I coulda!_ ” a loud voice shouted, and you and Arthur looked at each other before running off towards the source of the sound. From behind the butcher’s shop, a dog came bounding out of the alley, a bloody hunk of meat hanging from its jaws.

  
From behind the animal, came the butcher and another man. They were both sweating billets, faces ruddy and out of breath. They stopped, doubled over and panting.

  
“You there!” the butcher wheezed, and you couldn’t tell if he was pointing at you or Arthur. “Go catch that damn dog! He ran off with my client’s cut!”

  
Arthur seemed hesitant, but eventually took off in the same direction of the dog, his cigarette flying to the ground. You stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking between Arthur, and the two men. You were torn between staying and going.

  
“What are ya waiting for, kid?” The other man shouted, “help him catch that mutt!”

  
That was enough to convince you to go.

  
You followed after Arthur, your feet kicking up the gritty red dust as you went. You held on tight to your skirt in one hand, and the other your new hat. Arthur left a path of sandy clouds for you to follow, and they led you back behind the stables.

  
You could barely see him in the corral, over all the cattle. The steer were pushing each other out of the way and hollering as they tried to get as far away as they could from all the commotion Arthur and the dog brought to the pen. You climbed up on the fence, anxiety flooding you as the cattle became more and more unsettled. _That boy is gonna get himself plowed over_ , you thought to yourself.

  
Arthur was on his knees amongst the piles of crap and dirt. His hands were outstretched towards the dog, who had its butt high in the air, tail wagging, meat still clamped between its teeth. You could almost hear what he was saying to the dog. Each time he got a little closer, it would yap and take a few more steps back.

  
You looked around to see if you could help any. You saw a coiled up rope hanging off one of the fence posts a few feet away, and you climbed over to grab it. It was an old rope, and felt grungy and stiff, but it should still do the trick. If you knew how to lasso, you’d get the dog yourself.

  
“Arthur!” you called, and he looked over at you just as you threw the rope over to him. He caught one end of it and quickly tied it into a loop.

  
You watched for several minutes as he cooed to the dog and inched slowly closer to it. Eventually, the dog seemed to tire out and laid down, dropping the meat. It instead chose to playfully paw at Arthur’s hands, and even started to lightly gnaw on them, like a puppy would do. You could hear him laugh, and he patted the dog a few times before slipping the rope over its neck. He kicked the half eaten and dirt covered hunk of beef beneath the fence when he stood back up, and the dog tugged at the rope to find it again. But Arthur was stronger, and the dog eventually followed him out beneath the fence. You came running over to him.

  
“Damn,” Arthur wheezed, out of breath, “this dog’s crazy!”

  
The dog barked, and its whole body wiggled as it wagged it’s tail. It ran up to you, and jumped up on its hind legs. His front paws dirtied up your blouse and skirt, but you didn’t mind. You giggled at the dog tried to lick your face.

  
“Down, boy,” Arthur scolded lightly, gently pulling at the rope. The dog got back to his feet. He seemed friendly and content.

  
“Oh, good,” said the butcher as he walked up. “You caught the thieving son of a bitch.”

  
“I sure did,” Arthur replied as he pet the dogs soft, floppy ears. “That meat he took though, that ain’t comin’ back.”

  
The butcher sighed and rubbed his sweaty temple. “Yeah, I figured. I oughta take that bastard and shoot ‘im.”

  
You flinched at his words. “Oh, you don’t gotta do _that_ , mister!”

  
He looked over to you. “He’s been a total pest, little girl. He’s an awful goddamn hound.”

  
“You lookin’ to get rid of ‘im?” Arthur asked.

  
“In one way or another, yes.”

  
Arthur looked over the dog as it waggled excitedly, blissfully unaware of the conversation at hand. “How ‘bout I take him off your hands?”

  
“You really want that dog?” The butcher asked, incredulous.

  
Arthur nodded. “He really ain’t too bad. He’s a bit of fun.”

  
The butcher waved a hand, and began to turn away. “You want him, he’s yours! Just another burden off my shoulders. What good was I thinkin’ a butcher needs a damn guard dog. _Stupid_.”

  
“What’s Dutch gonna think?” you asked the moment the man was out of ear shot.

  
Arthur knelt down and ran his fingers through the dogs short orange fur. “He’s just gonna have to deal with it.”

  
You smiled as you watched Arthur and dog. You were happy and relieved knowing the poor pup was going to be in good hands, but you were also worried the others would make Arthur get rid of him. You sat down on the ground beside them, and patted the dog.

  
“What are ya gonna name him?” you asked.

  
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. He looked hard over the dog, his fingers trailing over the bright penny-colored hairs. “I’m thinkin’... maybe Copper.”

  
“That’s fitting,” you replied. “I think it suits him well.”

  
——————

The moon shone bright and full overhead. It hung in the air like an illuminated silver coin, dazzling along side thousands of stars. It was not obstructed by a single cloud. The night sky was clear, and you could see into the vastness of it for miles. It was a scene like no other you’ve ever seen before.

  
Arthur sat beside you as you rode in the back of the loaded wagon. You had certainly left with more than you arrived with, and the way things were rearranged enabled you two to sit close to each other. Your elbows touched. The moon and stars lit everything up so brilliantly you could practically see every detail of his face as if it were daylight. Copper lay settled against him, head in his lap as he rubbed smooth, soothing circles between the dog’s ears. Copper had taken a liking to him almost instantly. You were surprised Dutch and Hosea let him stay.

  
Night was much cooler than the day. It was almost chilly, compared to the raging heat of the sun. A breeze had finally found its way across the dusty plains. The lull of the wagon and dull thudding of hooves against dirt was a lullaby of sorts. Miss Grimshaw was curled into herself, fast asleep across from you. Dutch and Hosea sat up top like they were earlier that day. It looked as if Hosea was slumped over against the other man’s shoulder. All the tense feelings of the day were gone now. There was only sleepy silence.

  
You looked over at Arthur. He looked so pretty in the starlight, and you wished you had the guts to tell him.

  
“Arthur,” you whispered. He turned his head to meet your eyes.

  
“Hm?” he grunted in response.

  
“Do you remember reading to me? In the wagon, after Dutch found me?”

  
“Yeah... I do. Why?”

  
“That was just really sweet of you.”

  
He scoffed. “I was gonna keep those books from you.”

  
“I didn’t care,” you answered, “I still don’t. I guess... you needed ‘em more than I did.”

  
“Why’s that?” Arthur asked.

  
You shifted, and raised a hand to toy with the tail of your braid. “‘Cause, well, you were learnin’ to read.”

  
“I guess,” he sighed. “I don’t even really know why I did. Read to you, that is.”

  
“Me either. But I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do it again.”

  
“You askin’ me to?”

  
“Well... n-no, not really. I’m just sayin’... if you wanted to, you could.”

  
He chuckled a little, and shook his head. “I’m the worst goddamn reader you’ll ever hear.”

  
“You ain’t so bad,” you defended quickly, “it’s better than what you’ve ever done before. A year and more ago, you probably couldn’t even name your letters, now you’re readin’ out words you’ve never said before.”

  
He went shy, and it took him a moment to figure out what to say. “You’re insane.”

  
“Ain’t nothin’ insane about telling the truth.”

  
Again, he laughed, but it was dry and without humor. “Uh huh, sure.”

  
You sighed. “You ever gonna take a compliment?”

  
“Probably not.”

  
“That’s kinda stupid.”

  
“How?”

  
“‘Cause you could mean the world to somebody, and they might wanna try and show ya, or tell ya, and all you’d do is blow it off. Ain’t that a little bit rude?”

  
“That ain’t ever gonna happen.”

  
“You just did it.”

  
Arthur went quiet. He looked at you with wide eyes, and in the moonlight, the blue of his irises seemed to glow. You kept your gaze steady on his despite the blush that crept up your cheeks.

  
“You’re just playin’,” Arthur grumbled. He broke away from your stare and looked down at Copper.

  
“I ain’t playin’, Arthur. I wouldn’t joke around about this. Not about you,” you said. You started to get a bit frustrated. “I have thanked you so many times. For the littlest, and biggest of things. I’ve even thanked you for being my friend, and really, you blew that off, too. I don’t really know how to show you I care other than to tell you, and your skull is too goddamn thick to understand what I’m sayin’ when I say it! So listen to me good and hard, Arthur Morgan. I appreciate you. I appreciate _everything_ you done for me. You mean a lot to me. Ya hear?”

  
Arthur nodded slowly. You could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. He looked as if he’d just been scolded, and in a way, he was.

  
“I hear ya,” he said quietly. “I... you’re welcome.”

  
You smiled a little, and eased some of your weight against him. “Good. You’re my best friend, Arthur. Really.”

  
“...You are too, I guess.”

  
You dropped your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move or mention it. You remember being so petrified of the dark, you couldn’t bare a minute in it alone without a lantern. But now, as the scenery rolled by, bathed in moonlight, the darkness was beautiful. The night didn’t seem so bad anymore. And as you watched the stars fade in and out, your eyes slowly sank shut. Then sleep gently carried you off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if there was canon way Arthur found copper, I don’t remember hearing anything about it. I’m sorry if there was lol


	14. The Last Moments of Girlhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Grimshaw has a little chat, and the boys get back late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the kudos and comments!! They’re a super big motivator and make me so happy, I love all of you. I’m gonna be real busy this week so I might not be able to update as often as usual. Also,, we are giving Susan DEPTH even tho she succ

_*August 29th, 1880*_

It was _boring_.

  
The summer sun was still as hot as the first day you arrived in Texas. The air was as stagnant as a swamp, and the humidity had you suffocating. Your tent was a heat trap, so you tried to keep cool by lying in the shade. You had nothing to do but blister in the boiling weather. Even Copper was somewhere hiding from the sun.

  
While you and Miss Grimshaw cooked alive at the new camp, the boys were out chasing that gold. You had asked Dutch to let you come and watch, but Hosea quickly jumped in and told you “no”. Out of your two dads, Hosea was always the one to set your boundaries. Even Arthur didn’t seem very keen on wanting you to come along. It was explained to you that you weren’t experienced enough, “too young”, and it was too dangerous. It made sense, but also frustrated you because _how else were you going to get experience_ if you couldn’t as least see what it was like? Hosea was the one who told you _women could do anything_. You tried to reason with yourself, but it was hard to think clearly when it was half a million degrees.

  
Without Arthur, you realized how boring things really were. Sure, sometimes they were boring before, but now seconds felt like hours. You didn’t fully understand how much better things were with Arthur, or even Dutch, or Hosea. If you went to Miss Grimshaw, she’d overwhelm you with chores, and you would _not_ do that. So you tried to sleep while lying face-down on the ground, cheek pressed to the dirt with the shade on your back. But as it turned out, you couldn’t sleep in the damn heat unless you passed out from heat exhaustion. Which at this point, seemed very possible.

  
The moment you heard her voice, you sobbed internally.

  
“Keep layin’ there like that an’ the vultures will be eatin’ at your guts,” Miss Grimshaw croaked above you.

  
You begrudgingly turned onto your back. With the way she was looking down at you, one might think _she_ was the vulture.

  
“I welcome them at this point,” you groaned. You could feel the sweat already dripping down your scalp.

  
“Oh, honey, we ain’t lettin’ them get at you yet,” she said. “Get yourself up and help me with some sewing. Lord knows you’ve been gettin’ lazy.”

  
You hated working with her. She liked to nag and ramble and talk your ear off. She was only funny _sometimes_. But, regardless of how much you didn’t want to get up, you did. Crossing over in the sunlight nearly had you puking at how intense the heat was. But you kept your mouth shut until you reached an open tent. It was more of a sagging canvas held up by some poles more than anything else, though. You sat on the ground beside Miss Grimshaw, and she handed you a very tattered shirt you recognized to be Arthur’s. You took up some needle and thread and began pinning the holes shut.

  
“Alright, girl,” Miss Grimshaw began, and you already dreaded the lecture you were about to be given, “I’ve got some things to tell ya.”

  
“Oh, joy,” you grumbled. She didn’t seem to hear it.

  
“I heard you beggin’ on your knees ‘bout lettin’ the boys take you with them,” she said. You saw the flash of her blue irises when she glanced at you from the corner of her eye.

  
“Yeah,” you mumbled, “what about it?”

  
“Well, I... I just wanna tell you, that I... I think your real brave. A little brat, but brave.”

  
You paused in your work. Shocked, you looked over at her with an open mouth. She noticed, and frowned a little. But you could tell she was fighting a smile.

  
“Close your mouth, girl. Before a fly gets in there.”

  
“I... Thank you, Miss Grimshaw,” you stammered out.

  
“Work as you talk, missy. And you’re welcome. There ain’t very many women in the world who got the desire to do what you wanna do. I don’t know if you got more nerve, or less brains, hard to tell.”

  
“And here I thought you was bein’ nice.”

  
“I always been nice to you, just not in the way you want me to be. I ain’t gonna fawn over ya and spoil ya like everyone else does, no. You ain’t gonna get by livin’ like that. But you _are_ brave. Sometimes, braver than me, I think.”

  
You looked at her. “What’d you mean?”

  
“You want to go out and do what they’re doin’, after everything you’ve gone through. I ain’t with Dutch to be a criminal, or ‘cause I made a mess and had to run from it. At least, not really. I grew up over in Kansas and there ain’t nothin’ there. My daddy was always drunk off his ass and my mother, well, she was a whore and not at all better than him. Left me to do all the work, seein’ I was the eldest child. Dutch swept through and I well... I liked him enough, and ran off with him. Just to leave. I really only went from one mess to another,” she said. “And I ain’t gotta stay, just like you don’t have to. But I... well, I’m a bit fond of Dutch and I guess... I guess I don’t mind taking care of things here. Ain’t so bad as it was at home.”

  
You remembered when you and Arthur laid down in your tent and talked about her and Dutch. “You love him?”

  
Her lip quirked up in a short, uneasy half smile. “I don’t know. I know he don’t love me, at least, not the way you’re thinkin’ about. Love is a real funny thing, girl. We talked about it once, you and I. Sometimes it makes you an idiot, or blind. Sometimes you get so desperate to be loved you’ll take anything you can get.”

  
“Is that.. did you...-?”

  
“Maybe. I guess it’s part of it. But I’m here now and I got a sense of purpose. To take care of all you _fools_.”

  
You nodded. “Arthur once told me that sometimes people just get lonely with each other. Is that-”

  
She laughed dryly, cutting you off. “‘Lonely with eachother’, sure, we’re all lonely, girl. And maybe that is why I took up to Dutch. And I why I take up to you. Arthur- what’s that boy know about love, anyway?”

  
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I think it makes sense, though. He ain’t dumb all the time.”

  
“You gettin’ sweet on that boy?”

  
You fumbled with your needle, nearly messing up the stitch. If your face wasn’t already red, it would have been glowing with your embarrassed blush.

  
“I- _no_ , I’m not. He’s my friend, is all. I’m allowed to think he’s smart, unlike you.”

  
“I’m just seein’ him for how he really is. All boys are dumb.”

  
“Sure,” you grumbled. You worked in silence, patching up holes, for a few minutes before Miss Grimshaw spoke up again.

  
“You really are gettin’ to be a woman.”

  
You snorted. “Yeah?”

  
“Yeah. You still complain, but not so much. You’ve gotten real mature since we’ve picked you up.”

  
“I kinda had to,” you said softly. You briefly remembered all you had been through. _Look how you’ve come_.  
“That’s true. But I ain’t just mean it like that.”

  
“Then what do you- _oh_ ,” you mumbled once you realized what she meant.

  
“You used to be just a little tiny thing. Now you’re pretty much grown, and boys are gonna be lookin’ at you soon enough, if they haven’t already. You’re a fine young woman, despite your attitude, but we can fix that. That, and your patchwork. But it gets me worried.”

  
“Worried?” You almost laughed.

  
She gave you a sharp look. “Yes, worried. Boys are stupid, like I said. They get to seein’ a girl and think they own her. And it can break you, it really can. And you’re a brave girl, I told you that, so don’t ever let a boy make you think you have to lie with him or do anything just ‘cause he said so. There’s a difference between being polite, and being manipulated.”

  
“Well, alright. I promise.”

  
“Good. Give me that shirt, you’re about as good as useless at this.”

  


* * *

The sound of voices woke you up.

  
You stirred within your cot, flipping onto your back. You felt your heartbeat rise, and a quick rush of adrenaline carried the feeling of sleep away. The darkness in your tent strained your eyes, and you wished you kept your lantern burning. Your whole body was tense as listened to the muffled sounds. Paranoia sent fear pumping through your veins and the world was almost spinning.

  
You let out a sigh of relief when you recognized the voice of Hosea.

  
It was late, judging by how truly dark everything seemed to be, and how absolutely quiet the outside world was. You sat up, and felt around for your lantern on the shabby desk beside your cot. Lighting the little lamp in the dark was something you had perfected. Slowly, your tent was lit in a dim amber glow.

  
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stood up. You were in your nightgown; it was far too hot to sleep fully clothed. Despite your lack of clothes and shoes, you ducked out of your tent and followed the sound of voices. In the moonlight, you could make out the familiar silhouettes of Dutch and Hosea. They were in deep conversation, and by the sound of things, it wasn’t going well. Regardless, you silently approached them, and when they didn’t seem to notice you, you softly pulled at Dutch’s sleeve, much like how a child asks for their parent’s attention.

  
Dutch took a quick glance at you, then grunted in frustration. He casually brushed your hand away, and the feeling of his hand pushing yours away burned, despite the touch being gentle. You recoiled like you had just felt fire.

  
“Not now, Y/N. Get to bed,” Dutch growled. Hosea didn’t even acknowledge you, but you could feel the anger radiating off of him as he glared at Dutch.

  
You stood there in shock, unable to look away from the two men as they argued all the way over to Dutch’s tent. Sure, you’d been scolded before. But never spoken to like that from Dutch. It stung, and you had to stop yourself from shedding a tear. You remembered months ago, when Arthur said you were Dutch’s little baby. And you really felt like one. You bit your lip, trying to will the feelings away. You were so deep in thought, you didn’t hear Arthur saunter up behind you, and you nearly screamed.

  
“Settle,” he mumbled when you spun around to face him. “It’s just me.”

  
“ _Arthur_ ,” you breathed, trying to regain your composure, “you’re back kinda late.”

  
“I know,” he replied. He put a hand on your shoulder. It felt heavy, but you didn’t shy away from it. He peered at you from beneath the brim of his hat, and something about the way he was looking at you tugged at your heart strings. It had you forgetting all about Dutch and Hosea. You gently wrapped your fingers around his forearm.

  
“Are you alright...?” you asked shyly, ducking your head a little to try to get a clearer look at his face.

  
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just...”

  
Your eyes met, and in some strange sort of way, you understood.

  
“Come on,” you said, and led him back towards your tent. He followed you easily, and your tent was glowing a soft orange from the inside out. Once inside, you sat on your cot, and he took a seat right next you. Copper even found a way to fit, despite it being far too hot for any living thing to want to cuddle. But neither of you really minded. The dog panted quietly.

  
You watched as Arthur’s eyes glanced down at your chest, then quickly found their way to Copper. Your cheeks burned, but you ignored it for his sake. You remembered what Miss Grimshaw said earlier.

  
“How did it go?” You asked. You examined his expression as he thought of a response.

  
“Well... it didn’t go how any of us expected it to. I think we all had different ideas on what we thought was gonna happen,” he answered. He stroked the top of Copper’s head with his thumb.

  
“What do ya mean? Was it bad?”

  
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess it was bad. There was a whole lotta guns for a whole lot of nothin’.”

  
You were getting a little frustrated that he wasn’t explaining it in full detail. It’s like something was holding him back. But you sucked in a breath to keep yourself from snapping at him.

  
“There wasn’t any gold...?”

  
“Oh, there was gold. But it didn’t look like more than a handful of yellow pebbles. The stagecoach was full of hired gunmen. Full. They nearly blew my head clean off before we even got the chance to say anything.”

  
“If they was shooting at you... how’d you get the gold?” you asked carefully. It didn’t make sense. You didn’t know if it was just Arthur’s way of explaining or there was just something you weren’t getting.

  
“We shot them back.”

  
“Like... killed ‘em?”

  
“Yes.”

  
_Oh_. You looked down at your lap, staring blankly as you weighed the reality of his words. You knew they did “bad” things. But it was hard to imagine Dutch, or Hosea, or even Arthur shooting a gun with the intent to kill a man. It didn’t sit right, and left you quiet. You didn’t quite know how to feel. It didn’t seem like the truth.

  
Beside you, Arthur began to sweat. He watched your profile flicker in the warm light of the lantern. Your eyes were wide and glassy as you stare at your hands. He was worried, in a dumb way, that you wouldn’t like what he told you. That you’d find him disgusting or cruel. You were so emotional over killing a deer; how would you feel if you found out he killed someone? It wasn’t unjust, not really, they had started it first. He was only surviving. _There’s no sin in that._

  
“It wasn’t like we shot first,” he quickly defended, “we wasn’t planning on killin’ nobody-“

  
“I know, Arthur,” you interrupted gently. Your dark eyes found their way to his. They looked like the orange embers of a dying campfire in the dim lighting. He found himself trying to swallow down a growing lump in his throat. “I ain’t mad. Dutch wouldn’t have let you shoot unless there was good reason to.”

  
Arthur nodded. He didn’t quite know what to say.

  
“I’m glad you’re alive,” you said, breaking the silence. “And that you’re safe. I woulda missed you.”

  
Arthur could hear the shadow of sadness in your voice. He could tell the news was weighing on you somehow, and it made his palms sweat more than they already were. He didn’t know why he dreaded the idea of disappointing you. He wished the feeling would just go away.

  
“Yeah,” he mumbled, “I’m glad, too. Glad you didn’t come with us.”

  
“You don’t think I woulda made out just fine?” You asked quickly. There was a sharpness to your voice that had him worried he said the wrong thing.

  
“Well, I- I don’t know. We barely made it out alive, Y/N. Hell woulda really broke loose if you got hurt in that mess.”

  
Despite the seriousness of his words, you cracked a small half smile. “If I did, I’d have you bury me with a gun. I’da shot them back from the grave.”

  
Arthur looked away and shook his head with a chuckle. “You’d probably be a better shot, if you was dead.”

  
The sound of your laugh eased his heavy heart. You smacked his shoulder, which had Copper wagging. Arthur didn’t want to kill those men. But in a way, it was a lot like hunting. There was that same rush, but more full of fear for yourself than the target. He fought the guilt hard. But it wasn’t really his fault. They made him do it.

  
“You’re real mean,” you said with a smile. Your eyes looked tired, and your long hair was a tangled mess. The sweat on your skin glistened. Arthur looked away from you shyly.

  
“Well, you said it first.”

  
“Not really.”

  
“Yeah, really.”

  
“...I kinda missed you today, Arthur.”

  
Arthur looked up at you at your admission. There was an innocent vulnerability, _honesty_ , in your eyes and it had him taken aback. Often times, when you spoke kindly to him in the sincerest of ways, he didn’t know how to respond. His reaction was delayed every time, because his head was too busy either spinning or blanking out. He wasn’t good at words. He wasn’t very good at admitting things out loud, like you were. It made him jealous, embarrassed, and awestruck all at the same time. And always found himself doing exactly as you said he did- brushing it all off.

  
“What, was Miss Grimshaw really that bad?” he teased. He tried to ignore how much he wanted to say ‘I missed you, too’.

  
You smiled a little. “Yes, she was talkin’ to me about how much of a woman I am anymore.”

  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

  
“Put your mind _in_ the gutter.”

  
“ _Oh_.” Arthur blushed fiercely.

  
You laughed again, a pretty sound. “Uh huh. Imagine how I felt. She made me sew then told me I was shit at it. I mean, I’ll admit it, _I am_ , but still! That ain’t very nice. But, I dunno, Arthur. As mean as she is sometimes, she said I was brave.”

  
“Wow,” Arthur mumbled, “that’s new.”

  
“I know it! I was so surprised to hear that from her,” you said, shifting your weight forward. “It felt nice, though. I dunno... she’s like a really bad... annoying... mom.”

  
Arthur laughed. “I know what you mean.”

  
A cozy silence fell between you two. Arthur’s smile was slow to fade, and so was yours. He looked over your face fondly. He’d never admit it out loud, but he admired the way you could understand him so easily. He could speak to you without saying a word. You were one of his greatest comforts, his best friend. He found himself longing to hold your hand.

  
When you said his name, it broke him from his trance. He stare at you with wide eyes like a guilty dog.

  
“What was it like...?” you asked softly. The question caught him off guard, and he blinked.

  
“Huh?”

  
“To... to kill somebody.”

  
He looked to the ground and tried to recount the event he had just experienced. The memory was hard to grasp, all the adrenaline and action made it fuzzy. But he did remember the jolt of his gun when he fired, and seeing the such a little bullet kill such a big man. That guilt was back, that strange, stinging feeling creeping up his spine. It wasn’t as strong as it used to be. The first time he killed a man he nearly wept. _But there’s no sin in surviving_.

  
“It’s... it’s like huntin’. You get that same rush, you know. But if I’m being honest, there’s a guilt that comes with it. I don’t like it in the same way I like huntin’, that’s just the closest thing I can compare it to. It can be scary, ‘specially if you’re bein’ shot at, too,” Arthur explained. He gauged your reaction.

  
You nodded. “You done it before...?”

  
“Yeah,” he answered. “I have. Before all this. Before Dutch.”

  
Again, you nodded, but didn’t pry. Silence fell over the both of you of you thought about what he said. You didn’t care, not really. It was just a strange reality. There were many times you would think back on the past wishing you knew how to shoot a gun, wishing you could kill those people who took your family away. That anger you kept so deep inside of yourself had you entertaining those twisted thoughts.

  
“I guess you did what you had to do,” you said. “We all will.”

  
Arthur furrowed his brows, confused. “What’re you sayin’?”

  
You sighed, and began petting Copper’s velvety ears. “I’m guessin’ livin’ this life comes at cost, ‘cause the bad guys always gotta pay. Even though we ain’t so bad, society is just wrong. We will do what we have to, to get by.”

  
“You mean by killin’ people.”

  
You smiled dryly. “Yeah.”

  
He frowned. “You know what I said about that.”

  
“I do. You’re not gonna let it come to that. And that’s real brave and real sweet, but I can’t have you by my side all the time. I gotta learn to stick up for myself.”

  
“Sure,” Arthur grumbled. He took off his hat and rubbed his temples. His body felt exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he already knew his mind wouldn’t let him.

  
“...It was real boring without you.”

  
Arthur snorted. “I thought you was havin’ fun with Grimshaw.”

  
“I told you I wasn’t,” you said, warmly. You shifted around on your cot, resting on your side, knees folded up against your chest. You nestled your head against Copper’s torso, and he responded by wagging his tail and licking your forehead a few times. His breath really stank, but you just giggled and wiped the slobber away.

  
“You gettin’ tired?” Arthur asked. You could hear the smile in his voice.

  
“A little bit,” you answered. You mindlessly stroked Copper’s big paws.

  
“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep then-”

  
“ _Wait_ , you don’t have to go,” you said quickly, “I don’t mind if you want to stay here. I-I mean, only if you want.”

  
He smiled a little. “Maybe I’ll stay, just for a little while. I don’t want Miss Grimshaw thinkin’ we were up to some kinda funny business. You know how she is.”

  
“I _do_ know how she is,” you grumbled.

  
Arthur dropped his hat to the ground, and  
rummaged around in his satchel until he found his charcoal and journal. He balanced the book on his knee and opened it to an empty page. You began to hum softly, and he found himself content and having nothing to say. He began to draw the last moments of your girlhood, as you lie there curled up with Copper, beside him. And with each stroke on the page, he began to feel the stresses of the day get lighter and lighter, just like the great Texan sky outside.


	15. Riverwater: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur can’t say no to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry such a long wait! I’ve been on vacation! The next chapter in currently in progress and will probably be out tomorrow. Enjoy this one.  
> WARNING: reader is a bitch as first lol

_*August 31, 1880*_

Arthur’s fingers were tipped black from the charcoal as he sketched, but he didn’t mind. The object of his drawing was a sleepy, heat-stricken Copper in the shade. The charcoal kept smudging, and he had to keep going over the messy lines in order to perfect it. He leaned back against the tree he was sitting under for a moment, studying the dog. Then, he was right back to it.

  
He was just about finished with the drawing when you stomped over to him.

  
Arthur stopped mid-stroke, looking up from his page to you. Slowly, his eyes moved up from the ground, to your face. And the look you gave him was one of fire.

  
“Do you got any idea where the nearest river is from here?” you asked bitterly.

  
Your skin was glistening with sweat, and the sleeves of your dirty white and red pinstripe blouse were rolled up as far as your bicep. Your hair was done up in a loose, ratty braid and all the rebel strands of hair were pasted to your sun-burnt face. Even in the shade of your hat, he could see the hard pinch between your brows. A loaded tin wash basin was cradled against your hip, and he half expected you to start lecturing him about chores like Miss Grimshaw.

  
“Yeah, I do. Just a mile or two away from here, why?” he asked suspiciously, closing his journal over the charcoal stick.

  
“‘Cause I’m gettin’ sick of wearing the same damn smelly sweat-soaked clothes everyday. I hate doin’ chores but I hate _this_ -” you tugged at the unbuttoned collar of your shirt, “-even _more_.”

  
Arthur smiled a little bit, and stood up. He stowed away his journal, and looked out across the camp. Copper raised his head at the sound of Arthur’s movement.

  
“Alright, well, you need me to take you out there?” he asked. His hand found the belt loop of his pants.

  
“Yes, I do. Dutch and Hosea are still bein’ all pissy with eachother, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna ride with Miss Grimshaw,” you growled, already making your way towards where the horses were hiding in the shade. Arthur followed you with Copper lazily trailing behind him.

  
“You ain’t too pleasant, either,” he teased. He was playing with fire and he knew it.

  
You shot him a hard look over your shoulder. “Oh _sorry_ , I just been stuck here sittin’ in my own sweat for the past _three and a half weeks_.”

  
“You were all fine and dandy just the other night,” he said.

  
“That was the other night. And those two full grown men fightin’ like children just makes everything worse,” you grumbled. Arthur chuckled.

  
The horses were hating the heat just as much as everyone else was. Their heads were hanging low and bodies were dark with sweat. They stomped away irritating flies, and seemed to sway with restlessness and annoyance. You marched up to Black Beard, shifting the weight of the basin around. Arthur slowly approached you.

  
“How’re you gonna find room for that?” he asked, pointing to the tin.

  
You shrugged. “I don’t know, but I _will_ find a way.”

  
Arthur smiled, and shook his head. He stepped towards Black Beard and gently pat his neck. The horse lazily raised his head, tail swatting, and snorted. Arthur quietly praised him, and despite your sour mood, you admired it.

  
“Alright, well,” Arthur started, “I should... get you up onto this horse, then.”

  
You nodded, and set the basin down. Arthur felt his mouth run dry and anxiety creep into his chest as he approached you. He tried hiding it with a smile, but it felt fake and dopey on his face. Thankfully, you weren’t looking at him when he put his hands on your waist and nervously lifted you up onto the back of Black Beard. He tried to ignore how you leaned forward to put your hands on his shoulders to support yourself, and how from that angle he could almost clearly see down your blouse. When you pulled up your skirt to properly straddle the horse, he almost choked at the sight of your bare calves and frill of your bloomers. He sucked in a sharp breath, handed you the wash basin, and quickly mounted up.

  
It infuriated him how much you flustered him. Maybe it was just hormones. Regardless, he burned where you wrapped your arm around him. Your hand gripped tight at the front of his shirt, while the other held onto the wash basin. He was glad you couldn’t see his face.

  
“Hurry up, goddamn it,” you growled, “before Miss Grimshaw sees us. That woman is stealthy.”

  
Arthur nudged Black Beard into an easy trot. “Does she know you’re leavin’?”

  
You leaned forward to look at the path over Arthur’s shoulder. “No,” you said, “nobody does. And I can’t find it in me to give a shit, either.”

  
“Damn, Y/N. You got a mouth on ya today,” Arthur chuckled. His chest didn’t feel so tight since he wasn’t looking at you.

  
“Just get me out of here, Arthur,” you groaned.

  
“Ya know how much trouble we can get into for this?” Arthur spoke, his voice loud over the sound of the horse’s hooves as he pushed Black Beard into a canter. The animal tossed his head and whinnied.

  
“Sure,” you said loudly, looking back at camp as it disappeared behind the scant trees, “but like I said, I don’t care. It’s hot, I’m miserable, and I need a goddamn break. And if I get punished for that, then so be it. It’ll be worth it.”

  
“Easy for you to say,” Arthur replied, “But they’re gonna give me hell for lettin’ you leave. That’s a whole different _kind_ of scoldin.”

  
“If you’re that worried about it, then I’ll get off right now and find my own way to the river.”

  
Arthur scoffed. “No, I ain’t that worried about it. And I ain’t gonna let you go anywhere by yourself.”

  
“Then quit fussin’,” you snipped.

  
“I’m not the one fussin’,” he replied sharply. You sighed, and looked out at the scenery around you.

  
Even though it was hot enough to catch a pond on fire, you were happy to get out. It felt good to ride a horse, and see the land move around you as you rode by. The further and further you got away from the camp, the better your mood seemed to get.

  
“ _God_ ,” you breathed, “it feels so good to get out of there.”

  
“If you asked, they’d probably take you into town more often,” Arthur said.

  
“I don’t know if I really want to after all the calamity you boys caused,” you grumbled in reply.

  
“The local law is dumber than dirt. Ain’t no one gonna really know it was us, ‘cause all the men on that stagecoach died. And besides, everyone in Woodhurst is too drunk off their asses to remember their own first name,” Arthur said. You laughed, and it had him smiling.

  
“It can’t be that easy to run from your sins,” you giggled, despite being serious. Arthur shifted a little in the saddle, and you watched his profile as he looked out across the plains.

  
“Well, probably not. But that’s what it seems like. And how Dutch puts it, at least. Besides, it’s a big country. There’s plenty room to run from a mess we made.”

  
“I wonder how long that’ll last,” you sighed.

  
“Long enough for us to get by in this life,” Arthur said, before mumbling, “hopefully.”

  
“Say,” you started, “how much longer you think we’re gonna stay here for?”

  
“I dunno, there ain’t too much tellin’. Probably not very long, considerin’, even if Texas is full of idiots. You itchin’ to leave?”

  
“Yes,” you snapped, “I thought you’d picked up on that already.”

  
“‘Guess I shoulda.”

  
“Uh huh. And when am I actually get to contribute to somethin’?”

  
“What’cha mean? You are contributing.”

  
“I mean with you, Dutch, and Hosea. I sure as hell ain’t gonna slave away under Miss Grimshaw for the rest of my life.”

  
“Don’t worry, you won’t. She’s gotta die someday.”

  
You stubbornly fought a smile. “You know what I mean.”

  
“Sure. But honestly, I don’t know when, or if, you’ll ride out with us,” Arthur said carefully. You frowned.

  
“What do you mean?” you asked.

  
“Well, uh,” Arthur started awkwardly, “you... are you sure you wanna do that kinda thing? It’s... kinda dangerous.”

  
“I am fully aware of that, dumbass. And yes, I’m sure. I can shoot a gun, I can defend myself if need be. I want to be more than just a homeless seamstress,” you spat. You tried to push down the guilt you felt for insulting him.

  
“Just because you don’t got a solid roof over your head, don’t mean your homeless,” Arthur shot back, just as cold. You shrank. “And I ain’t doubtin’ your abilities. Once you’re in, _you’re in_. You really wanna carry that burden?”

  
“Yes,” you growled.

  
“Fine, then. The river’s just up here.”

  
Arthur veered off the path and slowed Black Beard down to an easy trot. As you bounced around behind Arthur, you craned your neck to see the water. The river was slow, and the brown stream looked shallow. Once Arthur stopped, you nearly threw yourself off the horse. But Arthur did the kind thing, and held the basin for you while you hopped down. You took it back from him and practically ran to the bank.

  
You yanked off your boots and socks, then stepped out into the water. Your toes sank into the soft sand of the river bed, but it was cool against the soles of your feet. It was instantly refreshing, and you let out a sharp squeal of delight as you clutched your skirt and kicked up the water.

  
Arthur watched you with a small sigh. You went through a very quick transition of _real bitchy_ to a _carefree child_ in the matter of seconds. And as pleasant as it was to see you have fun splashing in the water like a duck, it had him worried. You desperately wanted to be like him, in the manner of being a “crook”. You wanted to shoot, rob, and cause mischief. That’s what the gang was here to do, he knew that, but once you started your journey as an outlaw, it never ends. Defying the system was something you died doing, and when he saw you glowing like a child, he didn’t want that to go away. His childhood was ripped from him. In a way, yours was too, but there was still an innocence about you, despite your swearing and criminal desires. He hated to see it go, to think about it leaving. He didn’t want you to become hardened. And it was already beginning to happen.

  
“Yes!” You cried, a wide smile on your face, “I feel freer than I ever have!”

  
“ _Quiet_ ,” Arthur chided, “don’t be so loud. We don’t need to be drawin’ any attention.”

  
“Like anyone is out here in the middle of nowhere,” you retorted. You looked at him from over your shoulder. “It feels real good in the water, why don’t you come in?”

  
He smiled a little. “You got real chipper real fast.”

  
You shyly looked down. “Come on in and you’ll figure out why.”

  
Arthur plopped down on the ground and began the struggle of pulling off his dusty brown boots. “I thought you was gonna be doin’ laundry.”

  
“Once I’m satisfied with my time, we’re gonna be doin’ it, don’t you worry.”

  
“We?”

  
“Uh huh. A man’s gotta learn to wash clothes, too.”

  
He chuckled softly and began rolling up his pant legs to the middle of his calves. He stepped out into the water, and it felt like he was instantly cooled. Arthur carefully waded on over to you, the water sloshing about his legs.

  
“I think you overestimate my willingness to help out, Y/N,” he said. He found himself imitating your playful smile. It was so much more inviting and kind than the way you were looking at him earlier.

  
“How else are you gonna suck up to your wife when she’s mad at you?” you teased.

  
“I ain’t got no wife.”

  
“Your future wife, stupid,” you laughed.

  
He shrugged. “I’ll find out another way. Women like flowers, don’t they?”

  
“Sometimes, I guess,” you said, “but I know for a fact they’d like help.”

  
“Ain’t I helped you enough by ridin’ you out here?”

  
“I’m doin’ us a favor, and you know that,” you quipped.

  
“And how’s that?”

  
You shot him a sharp look. “You ain’t been sick of camp? Of all that arguin’ and tension?”

  
“It don’t really bother me none. You get used to it.”

  
“Well I ain’t used to it yet and needed a break. So don’t give me a hard time, and help me out some. It won’t hurt none.”

  
“Fine then,” Arthur said simply. He looked out across the small river, watching as the slow, dark spirals cruised down along the bank. The sun sparkled against the brown water, and it looked like someone had thrown diamonds into the languid currents. There was nothing else but the scattered trees, dry grass, and dirt, for miles.

  
He was snapped out of his trance by a sudden cold slap of water against his face.

  
You were grinning ear to ear, hat lopsided on your head as you held your skirt with wet hands. The sparkling look in your eye was a dead giveaway that you were the culprit, as if there were anyone else to blame.

  
“What was that for?” Arthur asked, wiping off his cheek.

  
“I was just tryin’ to help you wash that funny look off your face,” you teased. You squealed when Arthur kicked up a wave of water at you, and your hat went flying off your head.

  
Arthur laughed loudly when your arms went flying out from your sides, desperately trying to regain your balance as you nearly toppled over. With a plop, your hat landed on the water, floating like a little sailboat.

  
“My hat!” You shrieked, and as you scooped it back up, your skirt got wet. The black brim of your hat was dripping.

  
“My _god_!” Arthur wheezed, nearly doubled over.

  
“Hey!” you pouted, “I could have ruined my hat! The one _you_ got me.”

  
“Yeah, but I ain’t responsible for what you do with it,” he chuckled. Deep down, he was endeared you cared about it so much. Not that he’d ever admit it.

  
“Damn,” you sighed, “my skirt’s all wet. _And_ my hat.” You waded over to the bank and set your hat in the wash bin.

  
What you did next had Arthur’s eyes bulging.

  
You untied the belt from around your waist and undid the buttons on the back of your plain grey skirt. It dropped to the ruddy sand. You kicked it into the basin, and were left in your striped blouse and white ruffled bloomers. Arthur had to awkwardly force himself to look away, and suddenly, he was very bashful.

  
“What’s got you shy?” You asked, knowing full well why. Your own heart was hammering in your chest and it took all the courage you had not to be ashamed. “This ain’t nothin’ you hadn’t seen before.”

  
“On the clothesline, maybe,” he grumbled. “Not on you.”

  
“Don’t make it weird,” you half-pleaded. “Just.. don’t look down. Then you got nothin’ to worry about.”

  
Arthur sighed, and looked at you. He could tell you were feeling just as awkward as him, with the way you were fumbling with your fingers and the slight cock of your head. He desperately fought the urge to stare.

  
“Alright, just... let’s get the laundry done,” he said. You nodded, and began digging through the basin when he sat down on the bank.

  
You handed him a soft bar of lye and a washboard, and he held it like it was something he’s never seen. You began to string up a half-assed clothesline with twine between trees, and pegged little pins onto it. You kicked over the wash basin, got onto your knees, and took up your own washboard after filling the tin with water.

  
“You ever done this before?” you asked, in hopes to dissolve the awkward tension from the air.

  
“A few times,” Arthur mumbled. He didn’t meet your eyes as he took up a shirt and dipped it into the basin.

  
“Here,” you said with a little smile, “just watch me first. It’s obvious you’re a little out of practice.”

  
You took the lye from him, and scrubbed it between your hands in the water. White suds began forming, and once they were good and thick, you dunked a shirt into it and lathered the soap into it, before dropping it into the washboard. You worked it against the ribbed tin in the river until it was free of soap. The bubbles were slowly carried away with he stream. Then, you rung the shirt out and got up to pin it in the line.

  
“Like that,” you said, “real easy. Shouldn’t take too long with your help.”

  
He nodded, and did just as you said. Finding nothing to say, you both washed the laundry in silence for several minutes. There was only the sound of water and the distant chatter of birds.

  
You sighed, pausing your scrubbing. Your arms were wet up to your elbows and dripping with suds. You looked over at Arthur, who was working a little slower, but diligently.

  
“I’m sorry for being so bitchy earlier,” you said. Arthur finally met your gaze, blinking.

  
“Huh?”

  
“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” you repeated. Your eyes didn’t leave his as he registered a response.

  
“It’s... fine. I get it, I understand. Bein’ pent up ain’t any fun.”

  
“That don’t justify my attitude. I’m sorry.”

  
“I know,” Arthur mumbled, “you said.”

  
“Thanks,” you said, without meaning to. “Thank you for taking me out here. And for putting up with me.”

  
“No one else will,” he said. You would have taken offense to it if you didn’t see the slight quirk of a subtle smile on his lips. You grinned, thankful for the joke.

  
“You’re real kind,” you teased, resuming your work.

  
“Sometimes,” he said.

  
“We’re almost finished with the last of this,” you said as you looked at the final three unwashed garments. “...I don’t really wanna go back already.”

  
“We still gotta let them dry,” Arthur spoke.

  
“I know, but... I still don’t wanna go back after that.”

  
He scoffed. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  
“But I do. How about... how about we go into town?”

  
Arthur stiffened. “And get our asses beat even worse? Sure.”

  
“Oh, come on. We can ride to the next town over, it can’t be that far. I don’t ever get to do nothin’. And besides, we’d be new faces. I just wanna see, _please_ , Arthur. For me,” you pleaded, leaning towards him.

  
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Don’t do this to me-”

  
“Please, Arthur, _please_. I’ll make it up to you, I promise! We don’t gotta be long, just enough to see the town, please, please-!”

  
“ _Fine_ ,” Arthur interrupted. “But what are we gonna do about all these clothes, and your.. lack thereof.”

  
You nearly jumped up for joy, your face lighting up a lighthouse. “Yes! Thank you, Arthur, thank you!”

  
“Yeah, sure- but what about the clothes?”

  
You glanced at the clothes line. “They’ll be fine to dry ‘til we get back. Ain’t no one gonna come through here. It’ll be okay. And as for my skirt- well, maybe it’s dry by now. If not, then...”

  
“You _ain’t_ leavin’ without somethin’ on!”

  
You burst into a fit of excited laughter. “Way to spoil my plans! It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out. Come on, let’s hurry up and finish these. I wanna get going as soon as we can.”

  
Arthur let out a heavy, heavy sigh and hoped to God everything would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Part two of this chapter out soon!


	16. Riverwater: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s easy to get caught up in the fun and forget all consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! This is a bit late but I rewrote it a few times. There’s some angst and a lot of swearing, so be warned. Also,, it’s a bit of a rollercoaster lol. Enjoy!!!!!

It was about a twenty minute’s ride at a steady canter to the next town. It was called Longsville, and was just about as big as Woodhurst. However, it was far more lively. The town seemed bustling with life and excitement as you and Arthur rode in. While all the action made Arthur nervous, you were practically buzzing with delight.

  
“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” you said quietly into his ear, but not without passion.

  
“I can’t either,” Arthur grumbled. He hopped off and tied Black Beard to a hitching post. As the horse slurped greedily from the trough in front of it, Arthur gave you his hand to help you down. You graciously took it, and your feet hit the ground with a thump. A little dust cloud rose from beneath your boots. You smiled up at him, and flattened out your slightly damp skirt.

  
“This place is alive, isn’t it?” you beamed. “I wonder what’s the occasion?”

  
“I’m not really interested in findin’ out.”

  
“Who’s the pissy one now?”

  
“It must be contagious.”

  
You laughed, and without even thinking, looped your arm through his. He looked at you shyly from the corner of his eye, but didn’t protest. He was always like that with touch, acting as if it were something entirely foreign to him, but not unwanted. He let you guide him along the side of the bustling street.

  
“Then pass it along to someone else. There’s plenty here to share with,” you teased. Your eyes were everywhere at once, taking in all the colorful shops, banners, and bright streamers hanging from lamp posts and doorways.

  
“No thanks,” Arthur grumbled. You gently swatted at his shoulder.

  
“Oh, quit it. Let yourself enjoy this,” you said.

  
“I wasn’t the one who wanted to go here,” he growled through his teeth.

  
Despite the anger in his voice, you were not deterred. You simply smiled and carried on with him hanging on your arm like a sack of rocks.

  
“No, but you still came. And now you’re here. Come on, let’s see what this is all about.”

  
Arthur dragged his feet as you pulled him along. He grumbled to himself, the brim of his hat low. You were practically skipping as you weaved in and out between people, completely invisible to those around you. As you went along, you noticed a crowd of people gathering in front of a tall white building.

  
“Arthur, look,” you whispered, leaning towards him, “maybe they’re gonna hang somebody.”

  
That got his attention. He looked up, blue eyes attentive. “Hang somebody?”

  
“Maybe. They’re puttin’ on some kinda show. Let’s go see,” you said.

  
You and Arthur hurried over to the crowd, and worked your way in between them. Arthur looked increasingly nervous as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was stuck between an old, round man and a woman bouncing a baby on her hip. You reached behind you, and gently grabbed his wrist. He almost jumped at the contact, and you smiled at him. He gave you a small nod, and you dropped your hand down to hold his. You were also squeezed between a couple strangers. A tall lanky man in a pair of dirty overalls, and a heavily dressed man, who was sweating profusely. You didn’t want to lose Arthur in the mess of people.

  
The white building had bold black letters that read ‘TOWN HALL’ above the doors. There was no noose hanging, or a criminal set out in binds. Instead, a short, round, kind-faced man stood out on the deck above everyone. His boots curled outwards like stubby ram horns, his suit well made and expensive. His top hat was tall and black, and the darkness of it contrasted greatly with the white of his hair. He raised his arms high, and the crowd began to settle.

  
“Alright, everyone!” he shouted. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched. “Quiet down, now! Quiet! I’ve got something to say!”

  
The crowd went completely quiet.

  
The man cleared his throat, blinked at the ground, then clasped his pinkish hands over the swell of his potbelly.

  
“I want to sincerely thank you all for joining me in this celebration tonight! It means a lot to me, it truly does. To know you all care that much to accompany me in my birthday, sincerely touches my heart, as well as my family’s,” he said. You didn’t detect an once of a lie in his voice. You hadn’t noticed before, but a ways off behind him, stood a woman and two young girls, a few years older than you.

  
The man continued, “Today, I am turning the tender, youthful age of 60-” the crowd laughed, as if on cue, “-and I have enjoyed the past twenty years serving as your mayor. You help make this the wonderful town it is, in fact, I’d dare to say it is the best town in Texas, yes, that’s right!”

  
You flinched when the crowd suddenly erupted in shouts, cheers, and whistling.

  
“ _So_ , we are not just going to celebrate this old man’s birthday, but the beautiful town of Longsville! It would be the greatest gift of all, for each and every one of you, to take a break from all your hard work and have a drink- on me! As many drinks as you like! We’ll have dancing just out in the street here, and band to play some magnificent, _magnificent_ music. Thank you all so much, folks! Thank you!”

  
Again, the crowd screamed. It was prolonged this time, with shouts of praise, birthday wishes, and other unintelligible hollering. The crowd lingered briefly, and once the mayor hobbled back over to what you guessed was his wife, they all bounded off in their own directions. Arthur pulled you away towards an alley.

  
“I’m thinkin’ we should go,” he said, looking around. “People are gonna be drinkin’ and I don’t wan-”

  
“We’ll be fine, Arthur,” you interrupted softly, squeezing his hand, “nobody knows who we are or that we’re even here.”

  
How could he say no to you, when you were looking at him with those big, puppy eyes?

  
He sighed in defeat. “Fine. But no more than an hour. It’ll get dark soon and they’ll know we been out.”

  
You smiled, and fought the urge to hug him. “Thank you, Arthur! Let’s go see the saloon.”

  
“ _Saloon?!_ Y/N, you’re goddamn crazy, we ain’t goin’ in no saloon,” Arthur growled.

  
You pulled on his arm. “I said _see_ the saloon. We ain’t gotta do nothin’ more.”

  
He hated how easily he listened to you. Your arm found it’s way into his again, and you both made your way over the saloon.

  
You could hear the piano playing from outside across the street. People were pouring in and out, laughing, singing, socializing- it was the happiest environment you’d seen in a long time. And it was just about what you needed. You giggled when two men collided together at the entrance, fell to the ground, then laughed it off and helped each other up.

  
“They must really like the mayor,” you said, “to keep around for twenty years, and be this riled up for his birthday.”

  
Arthur shrugged. “Seems a little off to me.”

  
“You are ever the pessimist, Arthur Morgan,” you said teasingly.

  
“Just sayin’ what I’m thinkin’,” he mumbled. He slipped his arm from yours, and let a cigarette.

  
You watched him take a drag. “I have an idea.”

  
“That can’t be good,” he said through a mouthful of smoke.

  
“Teach me how to pickpocket.”

  
He looked you dead in the eye. “How to _what_?”

  
“You heard me,” you pressed, “teach me how to pickpocket.”

  
“I thought we weren’t gonna cause any trouble,” he said.

  
You shrugged nonchalantly. You were completely disregarding his seriousness. Arthur pinned you down hard with his stare.

  
“What’s a little pokin’ around?” You asked innocently. “Now’s a better time than ever.”

  
He took another drag from his cigarette, then blew it out slowly as he shook his head. “Alright, fine, I’ll teach ya. But you listen good, and careful, alright? If you get hurt, and Dutch finds out, he’ll castrate me like a pig. And I am _not_ havin’ that. So you do exactly as I tell you. Ya hear?”

  
“I hear,” you nodded.

  
“Alright. When you’re pickpocketin’, you gotta make it an accident, and you gotta make it quick. That’s the easiest way to go about it,” he began. He leaned against a lamppost, and pointed out towards the flow of people with his cigarette. “You weren’t wrong when you said now’s a good time. It’s crowded, people are distracted, everyone’s all over the place. Accidents are bound to happen. You gotta pick your victim, and watch ‘em. Follow them for a while, but not too closely. You understand?”

  
You couldn’t help but smile. “I understand.”

  
Arthur thought for a moment, then dropped his cigarette to snuff it out beneath his boot. He turned to you, and you recognized the familiar look of shyness in his eyes.

  
“How acquainted are you with uh... the man’s attire?” he asked awkwardly.

  
You shrugged. “Not too familiar,” you admitted, “pocket-wise that is. Never payed much attention to it before.”

  
“Well, then, uh-” he sputtered, then pulled you back into an empty alley. You followed after him, a little confused.

  
“What are we doin’?” you asked quickly.

  
He blushed. “I’m gonna have you practice on me. Don’t make it weird, alright?”

  
You giggled shyly. “Well, uh- _okay_. I’ll try not to. Just tell me what to do.”

  
“Alright, well,” he said, patting his pockets. “The easiest pockets to pick are from the coat pocket, or the vest’s pocket, or the pants pocket. Considerin’ the weather, you’ll mostly be pickin’ from the pants.”

  
You snorted. Arthur realized what he said, and flustered at his own words.

  
“You know what I mean, hush! Anyway- If you can’t see if there’s any weight in their pocket, try and watch for their dominant hand, if you can. I’m right handed, so I’m more likely to put things in the right pocket of my pants. I have a watch in there now.”

  
You nod. He continues.

  
“Now- I dunno how to explain it, just, bump into them. Like it was an accident,” he explained. You could tell it was getting frustrated at himself, but over what, you didn’t know.

  
“Alright then,” you said, stepping forward. “Shall I try it?”

  
He nodded. “Sure. Be fast. That’s the key.”

  
You looked at his pocket where he said the watch was. You could make out the small outline of it against the dark fabric of his pants. Awkwardly, you turned around and approached him from behind. He stiffened at the sound of your footsteps, and you could tell he was a little on edge.

  
You sucked in a breath, tilted your head in the direction away from him, but not so much you couldn’t see him from the corner of your eye. You aimed your hand on the upward swing towards his pocket, then bumped against him. Your long, slender fingers dived right into his pocket, and before he could turn towards you, you snatched it up and held it hidden in your fist. You spun around, feigning an innocent look, and gently put your empty hand on Arthur’s forearm.

  
“Oh, I’m so sorry, mister!” you mocked, fighting a smile, “I didn’t see you there, I was just admiring the beautiful decor for our dear mayor’s birthday!”

  
Arthur blinked at you, than patted his pocket. Feeling the watch was gone, he grinned, all awkwardness forgotten.

  
“Damn,” he said, “that was alright. I hardly noticed and I knew I was getting robbed.”

  
You grinned at the praise, and handed the watch back to him. “You think I’m ready?”

  
“Not yet. Practice a few more times. I don’t want to risk anything.”

  
“Alright,” you beamed, “ready when you are.”

* * *

You learned quickly. As the night grew on, people got drunker, and the stealing got easier. You were practically waltzing through the crowd, plucking whatever you could from their pockets. Everyone was so caught up in the celebration and drinking, that they hardly even noticed you had bumped into him. And you were so caught up in the thrill and craft of pickpocketing, that you hardly felt any guilt at all. Each unfairly earned prize was given to Arthur, who would stuff his satchel full.

  
You ducked and weaved between all the excited citizens of Longsville, looking for the victim Arthur asked you to rob. It was a little man wearing a brown vest and ill-fitting pants, who had gotten too drunk, too fast. You spotted the back of his head, and poised yourself before pushing through to him.

  
You could smell the liquor on him as your shoulder met his arm. Your fingers swiftly raided his pocket free of his wallet, which you promptly shoved into the waistband of your skirt. The man teetered on his feet, and waved around the big bottle of whiskey in his hand. You reached out to help steady him.

  
“I’m sorry, mister,” you half-lied, blinking up at him with the most innocent look you could muster, “I didn’t mean to bump ya like that, it’s just so crowded and I-”

  
“Ain’t nooo worry, sugar,” he drawled. You couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not, his eyes were so glazed over. “I’m just, just- what ‘m I doin’?”

  
“Celebratin’ the mayors birthday, of course!” you said, a fake smile on your dry lips.

  
“Ah! Tha’s right! To the mayor!”

  
Just as he was about to raise the bottle to his mouth, a large hand suddenly snatched it by the neck and yanked it from him. A separate man, one much larger and much older, emerged from behind the other with a deep frown.

  
“You _fool_ ,” he spat, “thats enough drinkin’ for you. The evenin’ ain’t even over and you’re ‘bout as drunk as a skunk.”

  
The smaller man spun around, almost falling over. “Huh? No I ain’t! You is!”

  
The man who took the bottle glanced at you, then thrusted the whiskey in your direction. He grabbed his friend by the back of the collar and tussled him roughly. You hesitantly took the drink.

  
“Take that and do what you want with it,” he said, “I’ve got to get this idiot home. I’m sorry if he bothered you.”

  
Before you could say another word, the two disappeared. You could hear the drunken shouting of the small man as he was practically dragged away.

  
The glass bottle was big, just about full, and surprisingly heavy. The cap was gone somewhere, and you didn’t even think to look for it. You brought it to your nose and smelled it. The aroma was acrid and strong, and you almost sneezed from how it burnt your nose. You’ve never so much as tasted alcohol, and despite how awful it smelt, you were incredibly tempted to take a sip of it. But you controlled yourself, and left the crowd once again to find Arthur.

  
“How the hell did you manage to get that?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded, as you approached him. A proud smile grew on your face.

  
“It was handed right to me;” you answered as you stepped up onto the boards beside him. You pulled the wallet from your skirt and gave it to him. “I got that, too.”

  
He took it from you, and looked through it. “I don’t believe that one bit, how’d you really get it?”

  
“I mean it, Arthur. The man’s friend took the bottle and gave it to me. Hardly spared me a glance.” You watched Arthur pull out what money he could find, then quickly toss the empty wallet aside.

  
“No kiddin’?”

  
“Nope.”

  
“These bastards must be real blasted to let a little girl run off with a full bottle of whiskey.”

  
“I ain’t so little,” you defended, clutching the bottle to your chest. “Not anymore.”

  
“Right, you’re a _woman_ now, accordin’ to Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur teased.

  
“I am,” you jabbed. You wanted to say more but held your tongue for his sake. He began walking down along the street, and you followed.

  
“Alright, then. A woman knows how to judge the time, don’t she?”

  
“Come on, Arthur,” you sighed. You purposely slowed your steps when you saw Black Beard up ahead. “I ain’t even been an hour.”

  
He shot you a look. “It’s been just about over an hour, now. I was watchin’ the time while you was out havin’ fun. It’s best we leave before any trouble comes along.”

  
“ _Arthur_ ,” you whined. You grabbed his wrist, and stopped. He turned to give you a hard stare. “You’re just bein’ paranoid. We’ll be fine. Don’t you wanna stay a little longer?”

  
“Not really.”

  
“Please! It ain’t that late. And besides, I gotta find somethin’ to do with this bottle.”

  
“Just throw it down,” Arthur grumbled as he pulled himself free from you. “Ain’t no one gonna care.”

  
“I do,” you said, “that’d be a waste!”

  
Arthur sighed loudly and crossed his arms. “Then what do you suppose we do with it?”

  
You looked at the bottle in your hands, watching as the dark liquid shifted around in the glass. You knew what you wanted to do with it the moment you got it. So, with a slight shrug, you told Arthur.

  
“We could... drink it.”

  
“ _Drink it?_ ” Arthur laughed, “I don’t think I can trust that.”

  
“Why?” You asked quickly.

  
“Because the sun’s gonna be settin’ soon, half the town is already drunk, and you didn’t tell nobody we was leavin’! And on top of that, we still gotta go get that laundry. You wanna be doin’ that after some whiskey, in the dark?”

  
You looked away from him. “I don’t mind.”

  
“Uh huh,” he scoffed, “I sure as hell do.”

  
You sighed, defeated. “Arthur... I ain’t ever done nothin’ fun like this before. Who’s to say we’ll ever the chance again? Just us, like this. Come on.”

  
“No.”

  
Suddenly, a thought hit you. And it was probably the worst idea you’ve ever had.

  
“Fine, then. You can try and stop me from leavin’ but you can’t stop me from doin’ _this!_ ”

  
You brought the bottle to your lips and _chugged_. The whiskey burnt your tongue like fire, and almost instantly your lips felt numb. It was like drinking poison and it hurt like hell all the way down to your stomach. Your nose tingled and your eyes watered as you forced the god awful, disgusting, wretched liquid down. You almost gagged when you pulled the bottle away, gasping for breath.

  
Arthur quickly snatched it from you. “What the _hell?!_ What has gotten into you?! That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen you do!”

  
“I-I don’t care,” you wheezed. “Goddamn it, that’s fuckin’ terrible!”

  
“Uh huh, I hope you enjoyed it. Now come on, let’s go home,” he growled. He grabbed you hard by the arm and tugged you along, walking fast. You were tripping over your feet as you tried to recover from your first taste of alcohol.

  
“Maybe I do care,” you said, spitting out the aftertaste. “It hurts.”

  
“I’m glad,” Arthur hissed.

  
As he dragged you behind him, the sound of music got louder and louder. People were dancing to the upbeat tune of a quick fiddle and vibrant hum of a harmonica. There was even the sweet ring of a tambourine, and despite the suffering you were in, you became curious.

  
“Nope,” Arthur snarled, pulling on your arm. It was like he read your mind. “Don’t even look that way.”

  
“But _Arthur_! When’s the last time you heard music like that?” you said. You sure as hell were getting on his nerves, but you were gonna push him until he was at his wits’ end.

  
“Shut up, we’re goin’ home, I-”

  
“Why don’t you let the girl have a good time? It’s Mayor Dillard’s birthday, only happens once a year.”

  
You both halted at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, and spun around. A young woman, about the age of 18, was standing there, off next to the entrance of a shop. She wore a pretty, but simple, blue dress decorated with little white frills, and her blonde hair in a tight bun. She casually looked Arthur over with a small smile on her painted lips. She looked cool despite the heat.

  
“We got other matters to attend to,” Arthur grumbled. “Pardon me-”

  
“Hey, now. Aren’t you enjoyin’ the festivities?” she asked, her southern drawl sweet.

  
“I mean you or the mayor no offense, but _no_ , I am not,” Arthur said. He was just about to continue on when the girl put a hand on his arm. He stiffened immediately, and looked her in the eye.

  
“Then let me help you enjoy it with a dance,” she said. Her eyes met yours, and she smiled. You didn’t smile back.

  
“I ain’t much of a dancer,” Arthur replied, “me and my uh, cousin here, have to go back home. Sorry, uh, Miss. maybe another time.”

  
“There might not be another time. My name is Katherine, Katherine Scholtz. Please, just one dance? It’d make a lady real happy,” she cooed, poking at one of the buttons on Arthur’s shirt.

  
He blushed fiercely. “Well, uh- I have to go. _Sorry_.”

  
Then Arthur pulled you hard down the street, and all you could do was try to understand what happened. Your face still felt numb, and Arthur almost gave you whiplash with how rough he was being. You looked over at the girl, who looked just as shocked as you were. You felt a little bit bad for her, but at the same time, happy Arthur had rejected her.

  
“What the hell, Arthur,” you whimpered, ripping your arm from his grasp once you got to Black Beard. “Tear me apart, why don’t you?”

  
“You’re makin’ me regret this whole thing,” he spat, quickly untying the reigns from the hitching post. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, and it made you think of how Hosea was glaring at Dutch when they got back. Arthur’s lips were pulled into a tight, flat line and his shoulders were square and stiff. You began to feel guilty.

  
“I’m.. I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to embarrass you-”

  
“ _Embarrass me?_ I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. You’re makin’ a big fool of yourself and I been lettin’ you get away with it. Actin’ like some kind of goddamn child- the hell has gotten into you?” he snapped. He threw the bottle to the ground and it shattered, and you jumped at the sound. His eyes were burning with all the rage of hell, and you stepped back.

  
“I-I just-" you started. It was hard to find the words to say when it felt as if you were being choked. Tears pricked your eyes.

  
“Just _what_?” he growled lowly, “You’re lucky I’m not leavin’ your dumb ass here to walk back.”

  
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you said. You looked down at the ground where the booze began slowly steaming like little rivers in the dirt, fumbling with your hands.

  
“You should be fucking sorry,” he snarled, and practically threw you up onto the horse. You yelped, and almost fell over. Then he climbed up into the saddle.

  
“C-Come on,” you almost sobbed, “Stop... please.”

  
Arthur kicked Black Beard into an instant gallop, and you screamed and latched onto Arthur’s shirt in order not to fall off. He jerked back with a grunt.

  
“ _Goddamn_ , Y/N!”

  
You let go of him and awkwardly held onto the back of the saddle instead. As you bolted through the town, you tried to bite back tears. The events of the day were catching up to you; the laundry, all the tension with Arthur, and the guilt of thieving. You swallowed hard, your lip quivering. The whole evening was a rollercoaster of events and emotions.

  
Once you cleared the town, Arthur resumed his lecture. And it hurt.

  
“I shouldn’t have even let you leave camp. You’re more useful there than you are out here. You could have gotten yourself in so much fuckin’ trouble. I can only imagine the hell waitin’ for us back at the camp. And it’s all ‘cause you wanted to do some goddamn laundry. Turns out you’re more trouble than it’s worth!”

  
His tone was nothing but malice. It was cold, and rotten, and wrathful. Each word weighed more and more onto your heart. Hot tears poured freely down your cheeks.

  
“I’m _sorry_ , Arthur!” you sobbed, “I know!”

  
“Not a word. Not a word out of you, you hear me?” he demanded. “All you been doin’ is beg. You ain’t nothin’ but a sorry thief, now, aren’t ya? Just like you wanted to be. And I bet it feels real great, huh?”

  
All you could do was cry. You clamped your eyes shut, not daring to open them, not wanting to see Arthur. He was right, in a way. You asked him to teach you to pickpocket, and you stole. By definition, you really were a thief. And you were a beggar. And you were sorry. And nothing more than that. You felt stupid for pushing him, for taking a drink of the whiskey, for robbing. For even feeling like you deserved to get out of camp in the first place. It got worse and worse as Arthur rattled on, his anger not letting him stop. He’s been mad at you before, of course, but never this mad. It scared you, and hurt you. You felt so, _so_ guilty.

  
When the horse came to a sudden stop, you were surprised. You half expected Arthur to kick you off and make you walk the rest of the way, but instead, he said:

  
“Go get the goddamn laundry.”

  
You opened your eyes to see you were back at the river already.

  
The sky was darker now, the sun settling in the West to retire for the night. It was cooler down by the water, which still ran dark and murky. Crickets began their gentle symphony, and the frogs were chirping along with them. The scene was too pretty and too peaceful for how you were feeling. The clothes were still hanging on the droopy twine, limp and softly swaying. You wiped your eyes and slipped off the horse.

  
After you collected the bar of soap, the washboards, and basin, you carried it over to the clothesline. You moved slowly as you plucked each shirt, skirt, and cloth from the line and folded it before placing it in the basin. You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you. It only made things worse.

  
“We ain’t got all night,” he grumbled. Black Beard snorted and pawed at the ground as if he agreed.

  
You pursed your lips and said nothing. Your head was throbbing and chest felt tight. It only made it worse to hurry along. But regardless, you finished folding and took down the line. You sucked in a breath and marched back over to Arthur.

  
Only to trip and fall on the way.

  
That was your final breaking point. The basin hit the ground, rolled about, and dumped everything over to the ground. You got onto your knees among the mess of unfolded clothes, and _sobbed_.

  
Arthur sighed loudly, and dismounted his horse. As his heavy footsteps got louder and louder as he approached you, you began putting everything back into the basin. You didn’t bother to hide your crying. You sobbed and gasped freely as you cleaned up the mess.

  
You said nothing as Arthur squat down and helped you load the tin back up. He was quiet, his hands quick as he tossed the clothes in. You didn’t dare look at him.

  
“....I been mean,” he said after a while. His voice was quiet, and low.

  
You stayed silent.

  
“I _know_ I been mean,” he repeated, “but I- what you did, takin’ that whiskey, drinkin’ it, like a damn idiot like that, was stupid. It was. I ain’t gonna sugar-coat it. You’re better than that. You said you’re a woman now, and if that’s true, you need to act like one. Like you’re grown.”

  
You winced at his words, and put the last of the clothes away. You stood up with the basin, and began walking back to where Black Beard was standing. Arthur quickly put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. You froze.

  
“Are you listenin’ to me?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, or at least, as angry as he was before.

  
“Yes,” you said quietly. “We have to go.”

  
“Don’t go bein’ like that, now,” he sighed. “I... I didn’t mean- You was- ah, hell.”

  
You sniffed back more tears and turned to look at him. He was staring out over the river. His face was hard.

  
“I was being stupid. I know. You said that already,” you mumbled.

  
“You’re actin’ like I beat you,” he said. He looked pained as he met your eyes. “I admitted I wasn’t the kindest, but I was just tryin’ to get you to realize you weren’t actin’ right.”

  
You looked over Arthur. There was a desperate look in his eye, and urgency in his voice. What he said was mean, and it did hurt. But his reason behind it _did_ work. You did come to realize you were being immature and irresponsible. You came to understand that that was how Arthur was treated growing up, and it was the only way he knew how to teach discipline. That didn’t excuse his behavior, or his words, but it made sense. It made the hurt worse in a different kind of way. And he was trying to apologize, but the words wouldn’t find him. Despite all the pain, that sympathetic part of you wanted to let go of it all and tell him it was okay. That you understood. He always had a hard time trying to explain and express himself.

  
“I know, Arthur,” you said gently, with a nod. “Let’s get back home.”

  
He hesitated, before nodding and following you to the horse. He helped you back up, and it much gentler than the last time. And when he saddled up, you leaned into him, in a strange, quiet sign of forgiveness and understanding. He eased into it.

  
And as you rode into camp, everything was just how you left it. Everyone was still hidden away. There wasn’t a sound.

  
“I guess you was right,” Arthur said awkwardly after he helped you dismount. “They ain’t noticed we were gone to rip our asses.”

  
You cradled the basin against your hip, and used your free hand to squeeze his shoulder. Your eyes still felt swollen from crying, but the grief wasn’t so heavy. He looked uneasy.

  
“God’s decided I learned my lesson,” you replied. Your tone was soft and self-aware, yet teasing. Arthur chuckled nervously.

  
“Maybe so.”

  
“Well... goodnight, Arthur,” you said, pulling away from him and heading for your tent.

  
“Wait,” he spouted, latching onto your free wrist.

  
A little surprised, you halted, and turned to him.   
“I wasn’t- I wouldn’t... I said that because I care,” Arthur stuttered. He shyly took off his hat and toyed with the brim nervously. You could tell he meant what he said. “I just... I don’t know how else to show you. Er, or tell you. I dunno- you know what I mean.”

  
“I do.”

  
“And I- Well, I don’t know any other way, not really. I don’t wanna be mean, not to you. You ain’t deservin’ of that, and I’ll... I’ll try. To... better, _uh_ , express... my care for you.”

  
All you could do was stare and blink. He never spoke like this to you. And it left you in quiet surprise, unable to think of a response despite feeling so much.

  
He winced at the silence, and shoved his hat back on.

  
“Damnit,” he hissed. “I’m sorry, I ain’t good at this-”

  
You stopped him.

  
“I know, Arthur. It’s okay. I forgive you,” you told him. You wanted to say so much more, but no words would surface.

  
He froze, eyes wide. It stayed only for a moment before he smiled short and shyly to himself, nodding. He awkwardly shifted his weight and looked down.

  
“I forgive you, too,” Arthur mumbled, so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

  
You meant it. And you knew he meant it, too. Arthur was damaged, and angry. But despite all that, he still cared. He had enough heart to admit that he did out loud, and to admit he was willing to try to learn how to be better, at least to you. It was enough to ease your pain and dry your tears for the night. You both made a mess. And you both were trying to clean it up.

  
You leaned forward, and kissed his cheek.

  
“Goodnight, Arthur,” you said, before turning to leave. Out of embarrassment, you didn’t want to see his reaction.

  
“...Goodnight, Y/N.”

  
As you walked back to your tent, basin on your hip, your heart hammered. Your cheeks warmed. The taste on your lips was like river water, and it was sweet and refreshing. And in that moment all your worries, pains, and dumb decisions were forgotten, as if waves of water had washed them away. All you could feel and think about was Arthur.


	17. My Pledge to Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on the move to a new hideout, Dutch gives you a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt me to write lol

_*September 21, 1880*_

“Have you ever steered a wagon before?”

  
You looked up at Dutch, who was sitting beside you on the driver’s seat of the wagon. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and collar unbuttoned. Sweat gathered at the front of his off-white shirt, and his skin was blistered and peeling from sunburn. Despite how miserable he looked, he didn’t show it. His eyes were bright beneath his hat and disposition cheery.

  
“No,” you admitted. You squinted at him in the sun.

  
“Well, today you’re gonna learn,” he said, smiling. “It ain’t too different from riding a horse. You don’t want the reins too slack or too tight, and you just pull back in the direction you want to go. These horses mind well, and know what they’re doing. They do most of the work, you just got to tell them where to go.”

  
“Alright,” you mumbled nervously as he handed the long, leather reins to you. The horses didn’t seem to notice, they just kept on at their trot.

  
“Ease up on the reigns there. Just enough pressure to let them know you’re still in control. There, that’s good, just like that.”

  
You stare down at the horses. Streaks of sweat marked their tawny hair from where it dripped down beneath their tack. They snorted and huffed as they pulled, determined, but tired. They didn’t seem to pick up on how anxious you were, and that eased your nerves some. Dutch watched carefully, that little smile still on his face. You glanced at him for assurance, and he gently patted your back.

  
“You’re doing just fine,” he praised.

  
You nodded, looking from the reigns, to the horses, and to the road. Dutch was right. It was like riding a horse from a distance. It was almost easier, if you weren’t hauling such a load.

  
“You know, you and I haven’t talked in a while,” Dutch began, leaning forward on his elbows. He watched the flat, dusty land roll by through squinted eyes. “That’s a real shame.”

  
“Yeah,” you scoffed, in good humor. “I guess we been, _you_ been, kinda busy.”

  
“No, you were right. We have all been busy. Hosea and I have been tryin’ to figure out things, Arthur, too. You and Miss Grimshaw help more than you think you do,” he said.

  
“I dunno,” you shrugged humbly, “I feel like I don’t do very much. Very much that helps, at least.”

  
“Oh, sure, you do!” Dutch said sincerely. “I know Miss Grimshaw likes to give you a hard time, but she tells me how well you do when you help her. And really, she’s just teachin’ in the only way she knows how.”

  
“I guess.”

  
“You are courageous, too. A girl like you, wantin’ to go robbing with some full grown men? That’s admirable. One day, I promise, you’ll be ridin’ out with us. When you’re ready.”

p  
“What if I’m ready now?” you asked, glancing at him. He was turning a golden pocket watch over and over between his fingers absentmindedly, watching you. He chuckled.

  
“I’m sorry, critter. But you’re not, not yet. We don’t even got you your own horse yet,” he answered, as kindly as he could.

  
You held back a disappointed sigh. “Then when will I be?”

  
“You work your way up. Start off small, learn how things work, how people, and the _law_ , ticks. You can’t just jump into somethin’ big right away. So far, you’ve listened real well-” you cringed, “-and we just gotta keep you practicing your shot. But before you get into that, there’s something you must know, and remember. _Always_.”

  
“What’s that?”

  
Dutch leaned towards you, putting a hand on your knee. His eyes were wide, and piercing, and looking into them, you found that you could not look away. A grave feeling found its way into you. You felt like a student, waiting to be given a lesson by the wisest teacher to ever walk the earth.

  
“You must stay loyal to what matters. Always,” he said, low and serious. “Let _nothing_ deter you from losing faith in what is most important. Because once that faith, that loyalty, is lost, all else is bound to fail. All of it. The world out there is tryin’ to lure you in with its orotund, turgid ideas, but that won’t get you no where. They do not want pariahs like us, outcasts, outlaws, because everything that we are, everything that we do, instills terror in their hearts. And when they try to rain their hell down on us, loyalty is the only thing that can pull us through. Faith will never fail you.”

  
“Where should my loyalty lie?” You asked, humbled.

  
Dutch chuckled a little, but there was still that strange look of passion in his eyes. He leaned back away from you, smiling.

  
“To what matters, dear, like I said. Ain’t nothing worth more than what matters to you,” he answered. “My cause matters to me, fighting against this modern system. Hosea matters to me. Arthur matters to me, Miss Grimshaw does. You matter to me. My loyalty is with all of that, with all of _you_.”

  
You fell into a thoughtful silence. Dutch mattered to you. Hosea mattered to you, Arthur mattered to you. Even Miss Grimshaw, and Copper. Your family mattered, both old and new. And now, after what Dutch said, faith mattered. Growing up, you had always been taught humility, and selflessness. And in that moment, you decided you’d give everything, right down to your life, for these people. You would die for them. Even the dog. You would have died for your father, and brothers. The feeling was there and had been there for months, but never the words, until now. You loved them.

  
“My loyalty is with with you, too,” you said softly. The words came out without really thinking. “And Arthur. And Hosea. And everyone else.”

  
Dutch’s smile evolved into a fond grin, and he clapped a hand on your back. He looked down at you with a sweet, endearing expression.

  
“That’s good, sweetheart,” Dutch spoke. “Don’t ever let that go. We’re family. We always will be.”

  
The wagon suddenly jolted, the right side lifting up and slamming down hard. The horses nearly tripped and fell into the tangle of tack, and you let out a loud yelp. The whole wagon shook and Dutch nearly fell right out of his seat.

  
“What the hell was that?!” Hosea barked from the wagon bed. He had been sitting back with Arthur, helping him practice reading and writing. He sounded pissed.

  
Dutch fixed his hat and sat up, looking around. “Uh, a rock, I think. I was just giving Y/N here a lesson on driving.”

  
“Then do it Goddamn right!” Hosea growled. He looked back along the road. “You better go see if the wheel’s okay.”

  
“You’re right,” Dutch said. He turned to you and gestured at the reins. “Stop the horses, pull back on ‘em. There ya go, _whoa_.”

  
You slowed the horses to a stop, your face burning red with embarrassment. It was the first time you’ve ever driven a wagon and you damn near ruined the thing. Ashamed, you looked down at your fidgety hands.

  
“Stay there, Y/N. Make sure the horses don’t move,” Dutch said as he began climbing down, “I’ll be right back.”

  
As Dutch checked over the wheels, you heard Hosea grumbling and Arthur laugh. You shrank back into yourself. They were surely talking about you. Dryly, you swallowed. You should have been paying more attention.

  
“Well done!” Arthur teased. You turned around to look at him. He was smiling.

  
“Shut up, Arthur,” you grumbled. He laughed.

  
“What, can’t stay on the trail?”

  
“Ah, leave the girl alone, would ya? The first time we had ya do it you almost had us ridin’ off a cliff,” Hosea interrupted impatiently. That made you grin, and Arthur swatted at the man in response.

  
“Alright!” Dutch grunted as he climbed back up, “everything’s fine. We’ll keep on towards Marron, and stop once night falls, we’ll stop. We got a ways to go, yet.”

  
You nodded, and flicked the reins a few times to get the horses going. They tossed their heads, but kept on at an easy trot. You were still embarrassed. Dutch noticed, because he took one look at you and then laughed.

  
“Don’t you worry, girl!” he boomed, “it’s all fine. You didn’t see it, everything’s in tact. It happens.”

  
“I guess,” you grumbled.

  
Dutch’s laughter faded, and he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long, deep drag before letting it go. The stink of it made your nose itch.

  
“You’re a fine girl,” he sighed, leaning back on the bench.

  
“So you say.”

  
“Hard to believe you’ve been with us almost a year now.”

  
“I know. It’s felt like forever. Not like it’s a bad thing, far from it. You lot are one of the best things to happen to me,” you said, soft and sincere.

  
“Good,” Dutch chirped, sucking his cigarette, “I have to agree.”

  
You smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the road in front of you. As Dutch puffed his cigarette in silence, you began to think about your time with the little gang. About all the bickering with Arthur, and the good times with him. Kissing his cheek. How Hosea took you on your first hunt, and how Dutch had so kindly comforted you your first few days away after the death of your family. You thought of the long winter, that was made warm with their presence. Nearly a whole year, and so much had happened. You had grown so much. You wondered what your father would say.

  
“Dutch,” you piped up, “remember about that gold?”

  
He grunted. “How could I forget?”

  
“I just- I was thinkin’, ‘cause you said that mister Colm O’Driscoll put you on it- well... I heard you say once he was the one who shot my papa?”

  
Dutch’s once cheery disposition slowly faded into something more somber. He stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it, smoke rolling from his lips. He stare out into the burning blue sky with a distant haze in his eyes.

  
“Yeah,” Dutch sighed, “I did. I still do think that. He leads a nasty bunch. Something like that, ain’t usual for ‘em.”

  
“Then if... if I matter to you, and that’s true... then why do you still associate with him?”

  
“Let me tell you something,” Dutch began, leaning on his knees, “revenge reaps no benefits. Sure, the bastard who did you wrong is dead, but so are your loved ones. The problem ain’t resolved. The past can’t change, vengeance can’t rewrite it. It won’t rise no one from the grave. You are important to me, yes, you matter greatly, but that revenge you seek... well, it ain’t gonna fix nothing. It’s a hard truth. It is. And even though Colm is rotten sometimes, he owes me one and I owe him one. I can’t afford to make enemies with him. Same as you, or I, can’t afford revenge.”

  
Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying. The part of you that wanted to avenge your family was angry at Dutch, but the part of you that loved him believed him. Your chest ached as a war went on inside of you. It didn’t seem very fair.

  
“But- but Dutch, he- I-”

  
“I know. I know. That’s the way it is, dear. You can be angry, but don’t go lookin’ for revenge. It’s a hard thing to understand, what’s between me and him, but believe me, I wouldn’t have it without good reason. Keepin’ you alive is a good reason. Alright?”

  
You sighed. “Alright. I trust you. I just... I can’t make sense of it.”

  
“You don’t have to.”

  
“What are we doin’ in Marron, anyway?”

  
“Runnin’, after that stagecoach mess. And looking for fresh leads. We need money. We’ll be out of Texas soon enough, don’t you worry. I don’t like it either, it’s full of Confederates and it’s hot as hell.”

  
You smiled a little. “Yes, it is.”

  
You’d be glad to see it gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Let me know what you guys think so far. A lot is coming up in the future chapters so look out for that. I appreciate all your comments and kudos, it means so much. I love you all!!!!!


	18. Finally, A Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You, Arthur, and Hosea have a moment to yourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don’t mind how soft these past few chapters have been. Exciting things coming up!!! I love you all

_*October 12, 1880*_

The breeze that rolled through was cool, and it broke the spell of humidity that had so stubbornly stuck since you arrived in the south. The vibrant blue of the sky was patterned with thick, fast-moving white clouds. For once, the temperature was below ninety.

  
Marron was one of the bigger cities you’ve seen while traveling with the gang. All the people were sour-faced and bitter, but as Hosea had put it, “too far into the bottle and stupid to realize they’re being robbed”. So money was easy to get, as long as you’d first listen to their tangent about the “good old days” and how they, or their fathers, fought in the Civil War. You had even earned your own bit of coin by pickpocketing, which you excelled at quickly. You didn’t feel guilty about it, at least with these people. You didn’t like them very much.

  
Camp was camp, as usual. Just a few tents around a fire. Dutch was smart enough to settle it by a creek, which you’d often visit barefoot, picking out smooth stones from the bed. You had begun a collection of sorts, which Arthur found funny. Until you launched them at his head, that is.

  
Things had gotten much better since August. Fall was coming around in its own Texan way, and Dutch and Hosea had made peace. Copper kept you and Arthur entertained, and Miss Grimshaw had kept you busy doing work when you weren’t fooling around. Dutch kept you shooting, and Hosea had even taken you hunting for jackrabbits a few times. It didn’t hurt so much to kill an animal anymore, and the ring of a gunshot no longer brought you back to what happened so long ago. You were recovering, and adapting to this strange, criminal nomad way of life. You accepted it.

  
You, Hosea, and Arthur sat in the yellowing grass, watching the vast country side from the top of a hill. Copper lie still for once, squinting into the breeze, his nose in the air. It was one of those rare moments when everyone had time to truly enjoy each other’s company. To be a family. Dutch had taken Miss Grimshaw into town, and Hosea had suggested a picnic of sorts. He made you each a sandwich, and brought along a canteen. It was a nice day to sit and do nothing.

  
“Yeah, I been talkin’ with Dutch, he says we might continue on east for awhile,” Hosea said, breaking the silence.

  
“I thought we was plannin’ to go on out West more,” Arthur replied with a mouthful of bread. He chewed it loudly before swallowing it down.

  
“That still is the plan, Arthur,” Hosea confirmed. “There just ain’t too much out there yet. We gotta head into all that eastern civilization to gather up some money, then we’ll be on our way. With everyone on deck now, we should be moving on in no time at all.”

  
“Everyone on deck?” you asked meekly, looking up from your sandwich.

  
“Yes, even you. You’ve gotten pretty handy at pickpocketin’. I don’t know when or how you learned that, but we’ll take everything we can get.”

  
You blushed as you remembered the terrible day that Arthur taught you. He even choked a little bit, and Hosea quirked a brow.

  
“Something I should know about?” he asked, looking from you, to Arthur.

  
“No, sir,” Arthur replied, grabbing at his collar, “Just- _give me a drink_.”

  
“Jesus, Arthur,” Hosea sighed as he handed him the canteen. “Slow down, this ain’t your last meal!”

  
Arthur cleared his throat after he chugged the water. His eyes were wet and red-rimmed as he coughed some. You couldn’t help but smile a little, despite how you were feeling. Hosea shook his head, disappointed.

  
“You really gonna laugh about a man chokin’?” Arthur grunted, once he recovered.

  
You threw a hand up in the air defensively. “I didn’t laugh!”

  
“Yeah, you did.”

  
“I did not- Hosea, did I laugh?”  
“No.”

  
“Told ya!”

  
“I was only kiddin’, damn,” Arthur said. There was a ghost of a grin on his face.

  
You shoved his shoulder, and he made a noise of protest. He stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, then tore up a handful of grass and threw it at you.

  
“Like that’s gonna do anything!” you laughed, wiping the dry, golden blades off your skirt.

  
“No, but this is!” he taunted, food practically falling out of his stuffed mouth. He took up another fistful of grass and shoved it down the back of your shirt. You squealed, bolting to your feet.

  
“ _Arthur!_ ” you shouted, untucking your blouse and shaking out the back of it. “That ain’t nice!”  
“You ain’t nice!” he laughed. He laughed so hard it was a wonder he didn’t choke again.

  
Hosea sighed. “Come on now, kids, don’t- oh, Copper! _Copper_ , stop!”

  
The dog, excited about all the commotion, got up and had began sniffing around. It just so happens you had left your sandwich unattended, and he _inhaled_ it. Hosea shot up and tried to catch Copper in time, but he was too late and ended up falling over on his face. You could only stand and stare in shock.

  
Arthur, however, was _rolling_. He had fallen back onto the grass, hand clutching his stomach, as he laughed and _laughed_ until his face went red. It was a loud, deep, almost funny sound that was too contagious to ignore. You soon found yourself giggling, and even Hosea was smiling.

  
“Oh, Copper!” Arthur wheezed, reaching out to pat the dog, “that’s a good boy!”

  
“No!” you gasped, “don’t praise him, he ate my sandwich!”

  
“You left it!”

  
“Don’t worry,” Hosea said through a chuckle, “we’ll make you another one later. Copper’s just a glutton.”

  
“He needed it more than she did,” Arthur teased. Copper laid out beside him, head on his chest, tail wagging.

  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you grumbled, plopping back down onto the ground.

  
“Play nice,” Hosea scolded, as he sat himself back up. “We’re hear to enjoy ourselves, not bicker.”

  
“Awh, I’m only playin’,” Arthur said. He was flopping Copper’s ears with his finger.

  
“I know,” you replied fondly. “Ain’t no harm done.”

  
A comfortable silence set in. You watched Arthur as he stroked the soft, velvety fur of Copper’s head, and Hosea stare out across the plains. He’d found himself a long stalk of grass, and was sucking the end of it. There was a wise, distant look about his eyes.

  
“You know,” he said, catching both your attention and Arthur’s, “when I was a young boy, I only saw my father for a short while. Three months, just about. And he was an awful man, by reputation. He did terrible things. But never to me. And everyday I am thankful that I got to know him, at least for awhile. I learned a lot with him. I loved him.”

  
You looked over at Arthur. He was watching Hosea with an almost vacant look about his face. Your heart twinged, remembering what he said about his own father.

  
“And sometimes I think, well, I _know_ , he could have been a better father. But I guess, he did the best he could. He just turned 75 when he died. That’s a long time... But, that’s not really what I wanted to say,” Hosea continued, “I’ve always had dreams of getting married, havin’ some kids of my own, but I’m 36 now. I’m gettin’ a bit old for that life, and I don’t think any good woman would want to elope with a face on a wanted poster.

  
“What I really mean to say is, you two... well, you two are the closest I got to children of my own. You might be all I have, unless we pick up another stray or two. Which I wouldn’t oppose. It’s been hard sometimes, and it ain’t like raisin’ a baby, but... I enjoy your company. I feel like... well, I feel like you’re mine, if that makes any lick of sense.”

  
Your chest blossomed with warmth, and you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. Your whole body buzzed with admiration- even the wittiest of crooks could be so sweet. However, Arthur looked almost troubled, his gaze not leaving Copper.

  
“It makes plenty sense, Hosea,” you said, “Thank you.”

  
He chuckled a little, and lay back out on the grass, perching up on one elbow. “There’s nothin’ to thank me for, dear girl. I guess I should be thanking you. I don’t mean to be such a sap, but, sometimes a man has so be.”  
“We ain’t complaining,” you chirped. Your smile wouldn’t leave your face.

  
“I’d hope not,” he replied. “You alright, Arthur?”

  
Hosea nudged his arm, and the boy looked startled for a moment. His eyes were shy as he looked up at Hosea, and he nervously curled his fingers into Copper’s fur. A faint blush coated his cheeks.

  
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, “I just, don’t really know what to say.”

  
“Ah, that’s alright, boy,” Hosea smiled, “you don’t gotta say nothin’.”

  
Hosea put a hand on Arthur’s head and ruffled his hair, which made him grin. Copper sprang up and barked playfully, like some oversized puppy. Arthur sat up and gently shoved Hosea.

  
“You gonna beat up an old man?” Hosea laughed. He clutched his hat to his head, and went rolling back when Arthur pushed him again.

  
“You ain’t that old!” Arthur grinned, and he yanked Hosea’s hat free. You caught it in the breeze, and held it to your chest.

  
Hosea swiped at him, a sparkle in his eye. He and Arthur wrestled on the grass, taunting each other between laughter, and trying to push the other down the hill. As they played like puppies just barely old enough to leave the nest, you fondly watched. It went without saying that Arthur loved Hosea like a father. And you knew that he didn’t know how to really act about it, given that his own father was so horrible. It was obvious that Hosea tried to care for him in that way, too. It warmed your heart.

  
And as you watched them, you briefly thought about your own father. How he tried to give you a good life, and taught you to read and write. How he’d tuck you in every night and blow out your candle. He was a good man, you knew. He took care of his children the best he could. You missed him, but it no longer really hurt to miss him, or to think of him. And that’s when you knew you had, for the most part, healed. You had been with Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Miss Grimshaw for a whole year, and had learned that family isn’t just blood. It’s memory, it’s love, it’s both good times and bad. You fit in with them just as you had fit in with your real family. And you’d stick with them, for as long as you lived.

  
“Y/N! Help me get this old man!”

  
You laughed, and went tumbling after the two.


	19. The Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally get your own horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! The story is moving up!! I’m really hype for what’s coming next. Just to clarify, there’s a three year time skip from the last chapter, to this one, and Arthur is roughly 2-3 years older than the reader. Thank you guys so much for all the comments and kudos, it helps me so much!!! Enjoy!!

**_*April 30, 1882*_ **

“You are goddamn _crazy_.”

  
You turned from where you stood out in the middle of the corral, smiling. Arthur was perched up on the wooden fence, looking over you. Hosea stood beside him, mouth ajar.

  
“That’s what the stableman told me!” you said.

  
After three years, you were finally getting a horse of your own. Hosea had surprised you early this morning by asking you to ride into town just to check it out. Arthur came along, and you were elated when you rode up to the stables, and Hosea told you to walk right in and pick out a horse. However, based off their reactions, they didn’t expect you to choose the horse you did.

  
In the corral there with you, was a blue roan quarter horse, and he was _not_ happy. He squealed, tossed his head, and pawed at the ground. He kicked up dust, bucked, and ran in circles. You could see the whites of his wild eyes, and his ears were pinned flat against his neck. His black mane was long and unruly, as was his tail. His knees were scuffed pink from knocking around in his stall. And you stood there proudly in the ring with the beast like it was an innocent little foal.

  
“That’s quite a horse you got there,” Hosea called. He was squinting against the sun as he watched the animal spin.

  
“Oh, I know it,” you replied. You waved him over, and he and Arthur climbed over the fence to join you.

  
You were seventeen now, and wilder than you have ever been. Over the past three years, you grew into something bold. Dutch kept you right under his wing, and had you practicing on the gun every chance he got. He taught you well in the ways of an outlaw, and became very much like a father to you, more so than he had before. And not once did he ever seem to hesitate because you were a young woman. He and Hosea looked right through that, and soon enough you were real quick with your fingers- on the trigger, and in picking pockets. Mrs. Grimshaw still tried to beat you into a woman every chance she got, forcing manners down your throat. She nearly fainted the day you strutted around camp wearing pants for the very first time. In a way, it seemed like you were a daughter to her as much as you were a daughter to Dutch, though she didn’t verbalize it. And Arthur still kept on being your best friend. You got yourselves into and out of trouble, and when days got boring, you’d run out into the woods and try shooting pine cones or hedge apples off trees. There was barely a moment he wasn’t at your side, even if you’d pissed one another off to hell. Copper had become a big part of your adventures, and some summer nights, you’d spend hours picking the ticks off each other. And those fluttery feelings that made you blush only got worse. But, despite your growing affections for him, you became your own woman and nobody could tell you that you weren’t.

  
So when the stableman said he wouldn’t sell the horse to you, you had him changing his mind.

  
“Why the hell didn’t you choose somethin’ you could ride home on?” Arthur asked. He stood beside you, fingers caught in his belt.

  
“Why the hell not? Hosea said any horse,” you quipped with a grin.

“I imagine he meant any horse within reason.”

  
“Well, she’s right, Arthur. I did say any horse,” Hosea said. He was still a little dumbfounded.

  
“How much did he want for that animal?” Arthur asked, turning to you. His blue eyes were lit up by the afternoon sunshine, and even the stubble along his chin looked golden.

  
“I talked him into givin’ me the horse for free.”

  
“Goddamn!” Arthur laughed, a sudden, booming sound. “She’s got your silver tongue, Hosea!”

  
The older man chuckled, and patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t be so noisy, boy. You’re gonna spook the horse even more.”

  
“He’s mine as long as I do the breakin’. The stableman told me this wild thing was untouched for about two years. The family that owned him didn’t have much time for him once their father died. He’s still young, about three,” you explained.

“You know how long it takes to break a horse?” Arthur asked as he crossed his arms.

  
You tucked loose hairs back up under your hat. “A while. But I figure we’ve got the time. I thought we were layin’ low, gonna settle here for a bit.”

  
“That’s the plan,” Hosea said. “So long as we don’t go screwin’ things up. We left a bit of a mess back in the southern Texan territory. We can’t afford to do somethin’ drastic, at least not yet. So she’s got time, it’s only a matter of if she knows how.”

  
“I can learn. The stableman said if I needed any help, he’d have his son come out and see what he can do,” you said. “I have a good feelin’ about him. He’s crazy, but... I dunno. I feel something in him.”

  
“Yep, she’s gone mad,” Arthur sighed. You gently shoved him, and he grinned.

  
“I know what you mean,” Hosea joined, “sometimes, a horse really speaks to you. It’s an odd thing, but you’re yet to experience that, Arthur.”

  
“Don’t think I ever will, if I have to tame the wildest bronc on this side of the country,” he mumbled.

  
The horse snorted, weary of you and the two men. His tail was flicking and he was antsy. He had calmed down some since you’d ushered him into the corral that morning, and you’d been with him ever since. It wasn’t all that pleasant to be fenced in with an angry horse all day, but you were determined to get him used to you.

  
“How you gonna go about him?” Hosea asked. He seemed a little nervous.

  
“I’m gonna earn his trust first, get him used to me. Then put a saddle on him, get used to that. You know, work our way up to things. Let him take his time.”

  
Arthur and Hosea nodded.

  
“You know,” Arthur began, “if you really needed help, I wouldn’t mind tryin’ my hand.”

  
“Thank you, Arthur,” you smiled. “How kind of you. But I’m gonna see how much I can do on my own.”

  
“Alright then, if you say so.”

  
“You boys find anything, anyway?”

  
The two men looked at each other for a moment, then back to you. Hosea stepped closer, like someone might hear, despite no one being around.

  
“I think I’ve picked up a lead,” he said quietly. “Some men were preaching on the corner earlier his mornin’, handin’ out books. I got curious, and picked one up. I looked through it, and got to talkin’ to him to see if they knew much ‘bout this town but all they talked about was how God gave power through money.”

  
“You tryin’ to rob a Church?” you asked, confused.

  
“Well, I guess at first, it seems that way. But I got a feelin’ they’re crooks, takin’ advantage of folk. I’m gonna look into it some more here in the next few days.”

  
“That should be interesting,” you muttered. “I’d really hope they ain’t disguisin’ robbery as faith.”

  
“I think it’s kinda funny,” Arthur added. He was grinning a little.

  
“I think it’s a bit of a shame,” Hosea said. “Other than that, I didn’t find too much. It’s a big town though, I might discover something else soon.”

  
“What about you, Arthur?” you asked.

  
“Well, I didn’t pick up any leads. I robbed a man or two at the saloon, though, if that counts. I ain’t too clever as to talk my way into somethin’, like Hosea,” he responded.

  
“I’d say it counts,” you said lightly, “as long as it puts money in the camp’s pocket.”

  
“I guess,” Arthur shrugged.

  
“Say, can one of you boys get me something to drink? I been out here all day and I’m thirsty,” you asked, shifted your weight from one leg to the other. Your mouth was dry and stomach was empty. You looked pleadingly at the two men.

  
“Ah, I’ll go fetch ya somethin’,” Hosea broke, turning back. “I’ll be back in a minute, I’ve got to find an outhouse anyway.”

  
“Thank you, Hosea!”

  
Arthur leaned towards you. “You know he ain’t gonna be back for a while when he mentions the shitter.”

  
“I know,” you laughed. “As long as he brings me back something to drink, I’ll forgive him for the wait.”

  
“So, you’re sure about this horse?” Arthur asked, changing the subject and tone. You glanced at him, then looked to the blue roan as it eyed you.

  
“Of course I am,” you said firmly. “I would have went and swapped him already if I wasn’t.”

  
“Alright, I just, want you to be confident,” Arthur grumbled.

  
“I am, don’t you worry yourself too much, cowboy.”

  
“I ain’t worryin’, I just-”

  
“You’re worryin’,” you laughed, “don’t try to lie to me. I’ll be fine. If he tramples me and I die, I die. So be it.”

  
“Y/N! Don’t go talkin’ like that-!”

  
“Shh, be quiet, Arthur,” you giggled, “you’re gonna upset the horse.” He shook his head, face turning crimson.

  
“You _are_ crazy,” he hissed.

  
“You’ve said that already,” you mumbled. “How do you like this place, anyhow?”

  
“Potsdam? I ain’t so bad,” Arthur grumbled. He awkwardly rubbed at his jaw, still embarrassed. “Folks is kind enough, but ain’t too kind to not rob. It’s big, lots to do. What about you? If you’ve even stepped outside this corral.”

  
“I haven’t, that’s why I’m askin’. I’ll explore a bit when I come back tomorrow to check up on this big guy.”

  
“Why don’t you just stay the night here?”

  
“I don’t know how much I fancy the idea of stayin’ someplace so civilized I never been to,” you responded. “I don’t mean to sound cowardly, but I haven’t... been by myself for a good long while.”

  
“I could stay with you, if you wanted. I-I mean, in the next room over or somethin’, if you’d feel more comfortable that way-”

  
“I dunno, Arthur,” you interrupted, smiling shyly. “I think I’ll just come back to camp. I like ridin’ with you guys, anyway, and seein’ the country in the morning.”

  
Arthur cleared his throat, pawing at his face. “Alright then, if you say so. I was jus-”

  
“Worrying, I know.”

  
“Would ya quit with that?”

  
“Quit what, _admitin’ things for you_?”

  
“Just- _hush_ , wont ya? It don’t even matter. Worry about your horse.”

  
You laughed, and Arthur lit up a cigarette. He watched as you pushed back the loose hairs from your braid under your hat again, then dig into your pocket for half a carrot. As he puffed his tobacco, he wearily kept his eyes on you as you slowly approached the horse. You cooed to it softly, and the roan tossed his head and danced on his feet. Your steps were light, one hand outstretched while the other was tucked away behind your back.

  
The horse snorted. His ears flitted back and forth, as if he was unable to decide whether or not to listen to you. He stamped his hoof, nostrils flaring. The white blaze down his face seemed to glow the closer you got to him. He shifted, but didn’t bolt or turn away.

  
When you got close enough, he _snatched_ the carrot from your hand and trotted off. Arthur laughed.

  
“Ain’t he sweet?” you asked, grinning ear to ear. It didn’t seem like a lot, but it was progress. He trusted you enough to eat from your hand.

  
“Yeah,” Arthur wheezed, nearly dropping his cigarette. “‘Bout as _sweet_ as moonshine!”

  
You watched the horse race around the corral, dodging you and Arthur. His spotted, stormy grey body spun and raced, and as his black mane flowed in the wind, you thought he was the most beautiful animal you’d ever seen.

  
“ _Moonshine_ ,” you whispered to yourself, “Sounds about right.”

  
You carefully made your way back over to Arthur, and he led you over to the fence. You both hopped up onto it, side by side. Moonshine, as you just decided to name him, kicked up dust as he tossed and fidgeted around. It rose up like a great cloud, and the wind carried it off as the sun filtered through it.

  
“I wonder what Dutch is gonna say about that bastard,” Arthur said. He was still nursing his cigarette.

  
“I dunno,” you replied. “I wish he woulda come out with us.”

  
Arthur mummed, a deep, rumbling sound. You looked to him, and he was just as beautiful as he always was. Unashamed, you openly admired his face.

  
“I guess he was too invested in his book,” he mumbled.

  
“Thats a shame,” you sighed. “I still gotta put this unruly thing back in the stable.”

  
“Need me to help you?”

  
“I got it,” you said with a smile.

  
“Alright, then. I’ll be here watchin’.”

  
You nodded, and dropped down from the fence. You picked up the coiled rope that sat on the ground, and opened the stable door. Moonshine seemed to know what you were doing, because he didn’t put up too much of a fight. He only lapped the corral a few more times before deciding to listen to you as you ushered him back in. He trotted right into his stall, where the stableman had loaded it with fresh hay. You closed and bolted the door, but not before trying to give his rump a pat.

  
“That was easy,” Arthur called as you walked out of the barn. You laughed as you shut the heavy door.

  
“Easy enough,” you replied. Arthur met you in the middle of the corral.

  
“You’re lookin’ tired,” he said. You felt shy as he studied your face, eyes looking over every inch of you. You smiled dryly, and looked down to the ground, kicking at the dirt.

  
“That’s ‘cause I am,” you said. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  
Arthur frowned a little, then looked around. “Where the hell is Hosea?”

  
“You were right when you said he’d be awhile,” you chuckled. Your eyes wondered along his jawline and neck when he wasn’t looking.

  
“It shouldn’t take him this long. He’s either readin’ the paper front to back nine times over or _constipated_. Let’s go find him.”

  
“Maybe he fell asleep in the shithouse,” you teased. Arthur put a hand on your arm and gently led you towards the fence.

  
“Maybe. Or the fumes took him out.”

  
You laughed as you climbed over the fence, Arthur in tow. “That would be one hell of a way to die.”

  
“Agreed. Come on.”

* * *

The sky was alight with the colors of the setting sun. The golden disk sank halfway submerged behind the distant Ouachita mountains of Arkansas, and everything looked as if it were on fire. Shadows stretched out long to the east, and the swollen clouds were glowing hues of orange, pink, and yellow. It was beautiful, but blinding. A warm breeze blew in from the south and carried spring in with it.

  
You rode with Arthur on the back of his horse. Your front was pressed against his back, head resting between his shoulder blades. One arm was wrapped lazily around his waist, fingers caught in the folds of his shirt. You gnawed on a biscuit slowly, and made a mess of crumbs on your chin and clothes. But you didn’t really notice. All you could feel was Arthur, and the strength of his torso as he sat upright, despite your weight against him. He’d gotten to be big, and strong, and any stranger would guess he’s older than nineteen. For once, he didn’t stink of sweat and dirt, but instead like a saloon, and something earthy. His warmth seeped into you, and the gentle rock of the horse as it tread across the trail made you sleepy. You hadn’t realized how truly tired you were.

  
The sound of Hosea’s laugh led you out of your daze.

  
“You best swallow that biscuit before you fall asleep and choke on it,” he said. He was riding on Sweet Pea to the right of you.

  
“Sorry,” you mumbled, “I’m just so goddamn tired.”

o  
“It’s been an exciting day,” Hosea replied. In the light of the evening sun, his skin looked like gold and bright blonde hair, like a wildfire. You studied his profile and thoughtfully ate your food. “You got to see the town, got your first horse.”

  
“I only got to see the town ‘cause we thought you died in the shit shed,” you said with a smile.

  
“Is that why you went lookin’ for me?” Hosea chuckled.

  
“Somewhat. You were takin’ too long to get me my drink.”

  
“Who woulda thought Hosea Matthews would have stopped along the way to con a man?” Arthur jested. You could hear the grin in his voice.

  
“You know, that’s how I met Dutch,” the older man said. He had a fond look on his face as he reminisced.

  
“I know this story,” Arthur mumbled. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your body.

  
“But I don’t,” you said, curious. “Tell me, Hosea.”

  
“It was about four, five years ago, I think. I was in Pennsylvania at the time, and was traveling to the next town over at night. And while I was ridin’, takin’ my sweet time, I noticed a campfire a little ways off. So naturally, I got to thinkin’ of ways to take advantage of this poor feller, and went to try my luck. And out by the road was this kid, _ah,_ maybe no older than Arthur is now, pokin’ at this fire. I get out a bottle of whiskey and invite myself over to join ‘im, and he is surprisingly welcomin’. He offers to hitch my horse, and while he does, I search his bag and take all the cash I could find. When he comes back, I get to talkin’ to him, tryin’ to squeeze more money out of him, but before I know it, he pulls out my very own pistol!” Hosea laughed, interrupting his own story, and it made you smile at how happy he sounded. “And I said, I said to ‘im, ‘you gonna shoot an innocent man?’, and he says, ‘don’t take me for a goddamn fool’. I had to laugh at this boy, he was quick! We swap our stuff and eventually he looks at me, smiles real big, and asks me where I’m headed. And from that point on, we been together ever since.”

  
“You stayed with ‘im after he pointed a gun at your head?” you asked, eyes wide.

  
“I sure did. It wasn’t like I was defenseless. After that, we got along just fine,” Hosea answered.

  
“Oh, I dunno about that,” Arthur teased. You laughed a little.

  
“Well, we have our quarrels, but who doesn’t?” Hosea said. You could tell he respected Dutch.

  
“Hm. You been friends for a long time, then,” you spoke after finishing off your biscuit. Hosea glanced at you.

  
“I suppose, but to an old man like me, four years don’t feel very long.”

  
“I’m glad you met,” you admitted. “If ya hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  
Arthur chuckled. “I’d probably been strung up years ago without you ‘nd Dutch.”

  
“Oh, you was a mess when we first found ya. You were the angriest thing I ever did see. You was pickin’ fights with everyone outside that saloon, damn near got your skull busted in,” Hosea said. You’d heard Arthur’s story of how he found the other boys, but not Hosea’s perspective.  


  
“Uh huh. I was real lucky you found me when ya did.”

  
“It’s amazing how much can change so fast. Once you got warmed up, you wasn’t so bad. You still got a temper on ya, but at least you can read.”

  
Arthur chuckled. “I guess some things just stick.”

  
“Yeah, that’s the way it is, sometimes.”

  
You sighed, content. The conversation lulled, and it was like everyone broke off into a spell of remembrance and reflection. You’d come a long way too, since finding the little gang of sorts. And on paper, three years seemed like a long time. But in reality, three years goes by faster than the blink of an eye. Hosea was right, it _is_ amazing how fast things can change. It even amazed you at how fast _you_ changed. You liked to think it was a good thing. You were tougher, bolder, and smarter than you ever were before. But Arthur was right, too. Some things stick. On some nights, you were still afraid of the dark. On some nights, you still dreamt of gun shots and obliterated brains. You still picked up pretty rocks and still liked to read. You were still alive.

  
As you stared into the fiery sky, you knew you’d see the sun again. And you had never been so thankful for such a simple thing.


	20. The Course of Love Never Did Run Smooth: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It just really isn’t your day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a delay!! I had a hard time writing this one. I hope you guys enjoy >:)

_*May 4, 1882*_

You wiped the dirt from your face with your bandana, gasping for breath. Dust stung your eyes and was all up in your mouth, the grit stuck beneath your tongue. It crunched like sugar between your teeth, and it had you spitting until your mouth was dry. Behind you, Moonshine whinnied as if to taunt you.

  
“You’re real funny, huh?” You grumbled as you straightened out. You took the rope back up again, and Moonshine tugged at it.

  
It was your fifth day working with your new horse. He didn’t go beyond taking treats from you. But somehow, you managed to get a rope around his neck, which pissed him off. It was loose as not to choke him, but not so loose to let him escape. He bucked and reared, and ran laps in an attempt to get away from it. It didn’t work out for him too well, but despite his sourness, you praised him until you inhaled a dust cloud.

  
“Get! Come on boy, start moving!” You raised your hand, encouraging him to move. He jumped to his feet, startling at the motion. But he listened, and trotted around the edge of the corral. You wanted to get him used to your voice and the feeling of a rope, mime the sensation of being lead. You hoped it was working.

  
Suddenly, Moonshine squealed, and tossed his head before bolting. He almost rammed into the fence with how fast he was going, and he slid in the dust. The rope was yanked from your hands, and the force of it had you tumbling to the ground.

  
“Dammit!” You groaned, spitting yet _more_ dust. It was all in your clothes now, and hair. With a grunt, you got yourself up and quickly looked around for Moonshine.

  
He was standing stock still, body tense on the far left side of the corral, nostrils flaring. Even from a distance, you could see the flash of his eyes and you knew he was looking passed you. You straightened out your hat and looked towards the stables.

  
There, tangled in the rails of the fence, was a man. His hair was black as sin and neatly combed back, despite his clothes being dirty. The collar of his work shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was smoking a cigarette.

  
You stared hard at him, and only after a moment did he wave. He began climbing the fence, and you looked back at Moonshine. He didn’t move.

  
“Can I help you?” you asked the man once he was in earshot.

  
“I was wonderin’ if I could help _you_ ,” he said. He sauntered up to you real easy, and as he got closer, you noticed more about his face. His nose was straight, and his beard was well trimmed.

  
“Oh. I didn’t call for any, but thank you,” you replied. You eyed him wearily, unsure of his presence. He smiled.

  
“You sure? That was quite a tumble,” he crooned over his cigarette.

  
“Who are you?” you asked, hard and low. His hands shot up defensively.

  
“No need to be hostile, Miss. My pa asked me to come check up on you,” he answered. You detected no lie in his response.

  
“Huh. You must be the stableman’s son,” you said.

  
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. My name’s Silas Kidd.”

  
He held out his gloved hand for you to shake, and after looking over it for a moment, you took it. He grinned as he met your eyes. You sensed a certain charm about him.

  
“L/N,” you replied. After a solid shake, you let go of his hand. He quirked a brow.

  
“No first name?” he inquired curiously.

  
“No,” you said simply. “At least, not until you give me a reason to give it to you.”

  
“I told you mine.”

  
You shrugged.

  
“Well, then,” he chuckled. “I’ll work for it. I don’t mind.”

  
“Sure.”

  
“You’ve got yourself a real fine horse here, Miss L/N,” Silas said, as he put out his cigarette.

  
“I won’t settle for any less,” you quipped, and he grinned.

  
“I will remember that, Miss. Now, my father tells me you’re trying to break this beast?”

  
“Uh huh, that’s right. I intend to see it through.”

  
“That’s real brave of a woman to do,” he said. “Admirable.”

  
You gave him a hard look. “Is that a compliment?”

  
“Sure,” he said, taking your attitude easily. “If you’d like it to be.”

  
“Hm. Thank you, Mister Kidd, but I don’t think I’ll be needing’ your help as of now.”

  
He stepped back away from you. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

  
“Well, you are. I’ll call for you when I need you. Right now, you’re just spookin’ my horse and irritating me,” you growled.

  
He smiled politely, and nodded. “Then I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you around, Miss L/N.”

  
You watched him go until he cleared the fence and disappeared into the stable. With a sigh, you looked back over to Moonshine, who seemed calmer now. You picked the rope back up, and clicked your tongue.

  
“On boy! Walk on!”

  
He didn’t walk, but cantered. Which you had to be fine with for now.

  
As you watched Moonshine run, you spun in place. Your mind wondered back to the man who had so kindly interrupted your session. But at the thought of him, your cheeks warmed. You inwardly cringed at how awful you must have looked, covered in dirt and grime.

  
“That shouldn’t matter,” you grumbled to yourself. “I don’t know ‘em.”

  
“Y/N!”

  
You looked over your shoulder to see Hosea at the fence. He held up a paper bag and waved you over.

  
“I brought you some lunch!” he called. “Put that horse away and keep me company!”

  
You waved at him, and smiled a little to yourself. Carefully, you pulled in on the rope and eventually Moonshine slowed down. He didn’t mind you well yet, so you had to lure him back into the stable with treats. Once he was in is stall, you freed him of the rope and locked him in. You met Hosea outside.

  
“Thank you, Hosea,” you said politely as you approached him.

  
“You’re welcome, dear,” he replied, and handed you the bag. As you walked side by side towards the town, you dove into the little brown sack. “I went to the deli and got you a sandwich. I hope you like pork.”

  
“Sure! Pork is just fine,” you said, already chowing down. “You know me, I’ll just about eat anything.”

  
“We can’t afford to be picky,” Hosea chuckled.

  
He put a light hand on your back and guided you out of the road as a stagecoach rode by. Despite spending most of your time in town for the past few days, you could never quite get used to all the movement and commotion that existed within it. When you were younger, the idea of running into town was exciting, but now you’ve gotten older, it all seemed overwhelming.

  
“Is Dutch around?” you asked, mouth half full of bread. You were shamelessly gorging yourself.

  
“Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. Last I seen him he and Susan were hangin’ around the town hall. And slow down before you choke.”

  
“Sorry, I’m _hungry_.”

  
“Sure. Anyway, I wanted to talk about that lead I found the other day.”

  
“The Church fellers?” you asked, a little surprised. Hosea leaned in towards you with a little smile.

  
“Yes, the _church fellers_ ,” he said quietly. “I ran into them again today, and you know, struck up some conversation. I told them that I was a factory owner lookin’ to expand my business, and they sweetened up real quick. I got to braggin’ and they got to talkin’, so I invited them for a drink. Got ‘em a little bit drunk, and they were just _blabbering_ fools. They work for a man named Douglas Adof Tanner. Apparently, he’s the leader of one of the church’s here. I’ve got a plan to figure out if they’re crooked or not.”

  
“And what’s that?”

  
“We pay ‘em a visit.”

  
“Hosea,” you almost laugh, “we ain’t gonna be foolin’ anyone lookin’ like this!”

  
“I know. We’ll have to play a little dress up.”

  
“With what dress? I don’t think any of us can afford anything rich folk would even _consider_ wearing.”

  
“Leave that to me, dear.”

* * *

The taste of roasted peanuts was sweet on your tongue as you shoveled them into your mouth, sitting on the porch of the outfitter’s shop. There was a satisfying ache in the muscles of your arms, legs, and back from working with Moonshine all morning. It felt good to sit and rest, and to fill your stomach. Hosea was all too kind to buy you more food after you gawked at all the sweets in the window of the bakery. He asked for you to wait on him while he “struck up a deal”, so here you sat, on a half-rotted bench, watching the townspeople go about their daily lives.

  
The cool spring breeze that rolled through felt good. It was refreshing, and carried away all worries and bitterness of the day. For the first time in a long while, you felt calm and refreshed. Like nothing in the world could ever bother you, not Silas Kidd, not Moonshine’s attitude, or the past. Nothing was on your mind but a sweet, simple tune to match the crunch of peanuts between your teeth.

  
“Alright, dear girl! That was almost easy.”

  
Hosea’s voice was light, and almost as cheery as you felt. He closed the shop door beside him, and the little bell above it jingled quietly. You looked up at him with a smile, and he grinned back at you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

  
“Talkin’ is always easy for you,” you teased. Hosea chuckled and gently swatted your arm.

  
“Our clothes will be ready for pick up tomorrow. Good thing, because service starts ten in the morning on Sunday,” he said.

  
“You didn’t even get us measured,” you replied, brows bowing in confusion.

  
“Worry not, we won’t be needing that. We’ll come in, pick what we like, and leave. Not a penny out of our pocket.”

  
“How do you manage that, Hosea? A fancy suit, for nothin’?”

  
“All it takes a little charm, dear. That’s all,” he answered. There was a proud little smile on his face, and it made you laugh.

  
“Why don’t you sit down, Hosea?” you asked. You encouraged him by patting the empty spot next to you, but he shook his head.

  
“No, I’m thinkin’ it’s best we find the other’s and go. I gotta talk to Dutch some more, and it ain’t wise to leave the camp unattended too long. It’d be a miracle if Copper hasn’t gotten into something again,” he said.

  
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you sighed. You clutched your little bag of peanuts in one hand and wiped any dirt and crumbs from your blouse before standing up and stretching. Hosea chuckled, and straightened out your hat for you. You followed him down onto the street in search for the others.

  
“I’m thinkin’, it’s just a thought for now, but we’ll pose as a family,” Hosea began. He studied the ground as he walked, envisioning his plan as he talked. “Dutch and I are business partners, we run some textile factory together over in the east. We’re just stopping by, looking for fellow men of god, or something. We have to seem innocent, at first. I don’t have it all entirely worked out, I’ll need Dutch’s thoughts, but that’s what I’m thinkin’ so far.”

  
“I’m a bit nervous,” you admit. “It don’t feel right entertaining the idea of robbin’ a church.”

  
“We’re not robbing the church, Y/N,” Hosea corrected. “We’re robbing the bastard takin’ from the poor. We’ll give what money we can back, and take what that greedy son of a bitch doesn’t need.”

  
“Alright then. I’m gonna trust you know what you’re doin’,” you said. You had never done too much more than raid a man’s pocket, or swipe a lady’s coin purse. Acting like a lost or dumb girl was the extent of your pretending. It intimidated you to think of putting on an expensive dress and acting like you had money, when you’ve never lived off that great luxury before.

  
“We’ll know by tomorrow. And you need not worry. You’re quick, and you’re smart, girl,” Hosea said. He patted your back, and you nodded.

  
“Thank you,” you mumbled at the praise. “We’ll see how good my acting skills are.”

  
“You know, I was a stage actor once.”

  
“No kiddin’?”

  
“No no, I’m serious! It wasn’t a long while, of course, but it was rather fun. I really aspired to be a comedian.”

  
“You’d do well at that. You ain’t dry, that’s for sure. Why’d, uh, why’d ya stop?”

  
“Well, I got caught up in some bad business, as you know. I guess, I guess it was almost second nature, thievin’. It’s what my dad did, and probably what his father did, too,” Hosea said. And as you walked side by side, slow and leisure, you listened and ate some more peanuts. You always liked to hear stories, whether it be in books or from another’s life. Hosea was only in his 30s, and yet, had done, been, and seen, so many things. It impressed you, how his wit and tongue got him so far. He was smoother than silk, which you greatly admired. It was one of the many things about him you wished to take. So you listened with interest, and care. Until you saw a familiar shape out of the corner of your eye.

  
Your heart sailed, fluttering erupted in your stomach, and your lips itched to smile at the sight of Arthur as he stepped out of a shop. He stopped to hold the door open for a lady, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear a thing Hosea was saying. It was all rainbows and butterflies as you ogled him. You were excited to talk to him about your morning, offer him some peanuts, and to just be near him. You were feeling good before, but even _better_ now that Arthur was near.

  
Until the woman he held the door open for took his arm.

  
It was as if you’d stepped right off the edge of a cliff. All the jittery feelings left you in the blink of an eye. Confusion took you up first, and you squinted at him, desperately hoping that it wasn’t really Arthur. But the sway in his step and the way he held his shoulders promised you it was him. The two were walking your way, and the closer you got, the clearer their faces became. You could see their wide, glowing smiles, and that’s when your heart _sank_.

  
“Oh, look! There’s Arthur,” Hosea said, pointing ahead. “Looks like he’s found himself a new friend.”

  
_A new friend_. An unfamiliar anger bubbled up inside of you. You gritted your teeth and squeezed tight onto the paper bag in your hand. Hosea ushered you further along the street, and he didn’t notice how you were dragging your feet. He was waving at Arthur.

  
Arthur and the girl didn’t even notice either of you until they almost ran into you.

  
“Ah, Arthur! We were just looking for you,” Hosea said. He wore a kind, charming smile, and tipped his hat to the girl. “Who’s this lovely gal?”

  
“Hello,” she said shyly. Her voice was warm and sweet, and her pretty brown doe eyes were wide and innocent. “I’m Mary Gillis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  
“Hosea Clark,” he lied, the false name falling easy off his lips. “I see you’ve met this... charming young man?”

  
Arthur scoffed, going a bit red. “Oh quiet, old man.”

  
Mary Gilis giggled.

  
“This is my... uncle, I told you about. And that there’s my cousin. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Arthur’s gaze was pleading as he looked at you. He was asking you not to embarrass him, you knew that look. Your blood boiled.

  
“ _Hi_ ,” you grunted through your teeth, thrusting your free hand out to her. “I’m Y/N.”

  
Mary glanced at your hand, then Arthur, before reaching out and gently shaking your hand. Her palm was small, and smooth against yours. The skin of her wrist was pale. You gave her a numb, tight-lipped smile before practically yanking your arm away. Hosea gave you a puzzled look.

  
“How lovely to meet you, Miss, uh... Y/N,” she said. “You two don’t look very much related...”

  
“It’s a bit complicated,” Arthur quickly butted in, “I’ve got a few uncles, uh, they’ve remarried some. That’s where she came in.”

  
“Oh,” was all Mary managed to stutter out. She pawed at her necklace awkwardly.

  
“Say, have you seen your _other_ uncle?” Hosea asked. He looked to Arthur.

  
“No, I haven’t. You lookin’ for ‘im?”

  
“Yes, I think it’s about time we head back. It’s been a long day,” Hosea answered.

  
Arthur nodded, then turned to Mary. You watched in festering silence as he took her hand, and she blushed.

  
“I’ve got to get goin’, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Do you... do you need me to walk you home?”

  
“No,” Mary said, much to your relief. “You should help find your uncle. I’ll be just fine, Arthur. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve had so much fun with you today.”

  
You watched as they hesitantly parted, and you wanted to cry when Arthur turned to look over Mary Gillis as she walked back.

  
“You got yourself quite a catch, Arthur!” Hosea chuckled, gathering Arthur up with a sweep of his arm.

  
“Well, uh, it ain’t _really_ like that. She wouldn’t even have me, there ain’t no way,” Arthur grumbled. He kept his eyes down, and his cheeks were crimson. They began walking the direction you came, and you followed behind them.

  
“You never know, son. I think that’s the first time I’d ever seen you with a girl on your arm. It’s almost shocking, huh, Y/N?”

  
You didn’t even register your name. You were too busy thinking about the way Arthur and Mary looked at each other, all smiles and gentle eyes. The way they clung to each other, and desperately hung on until their arms could no longer reach. And it _hurt_. It hurt in big ways you’ve never felt before. It felt like betrayal, almost. It stung you hard when you saw the look of longing in his face as he watched her go. You felt your throat tighten, and tears prick your eyes. It wasn’t fair. How could he do this to you? He didn’t even notice you and Hosea. Your hands were balled up in fists, and you didn’t dare look up. You couldn’t bare to look at Arthur.

  
“Y/N?” Hosea said again. He and Arthur stopped, and they were both looking at you from over their shoulders. You almost bumped into them.

“I’m just.. I’m gonna go wait at the stable while you go find Dutch,” you mumbled out. Each word felt heavy in your mouth. Every time you blinked you saw Mary Gillis’s smile. You stepped around Hosea, and began storming off towards the stable before you could start crying.

  
“What’s wrong with her?” Arthur grumbled as he watched you practically _run_ away.

  
“I don’t know,” Hosea said slowly. But he lied. He knew what was wrong, but he’d never tell. “She’s probably just tired. Come on now, we’ll meet her later. Let’s just go and find Dutch and Susan.”

* * *

The hay beneath you was prickly, and stiff, and it poked you through your clothes. It was even stuck in the tangles of your hair. But you didn’t care. You _couldn’t_ care, not when the pain in your heart hurt so bad.

  
You had run off into the hay loft at the stable. Tears were already streaming down your face by the time you reached the top of the ladder, and you started sobbing once you threw yourself down into the loose dry hay. Your cheeks were tight with dried tears, eyes puffy, your throat sore. Your head even throbbed from how long and hard you’d been crying.

  
You had never liked anyone as much as you liked Arthur. He was your best friend. You and him did everything together, spent countless hours wondering the wilderness, napping beneath the same tree, playing cards together, helping one another with chores, practicing your reading and penmanship, and talking. He made you laugh, blush, and had made recovering so much easier, even if he was a real asshole sometimes. You didn’t want to be his sister, or his cousin, or anything but his friend. _Best_ friend. Sometimes, you wanted to be _more_ than that to him. He understood you just as you understood him.

  
And you knew that Mary Gillis would take all of that away from you.

  
He’d spend all his time in town, parading around the streets with her perched on his arm like some damn parrot. And they’d steal kisses, hold hands, talk about love and marriage and soon enough he’d put a ring on her finger, and move away with her. And he would never spare you a second thought, even after the three years you’ve been at his side.

  
Arthur Morgan would never love you back in the way that you loved him, and it fucking broke your heart.

  
You cried into hands, and it was ugly. Hideous choked sounds surfaced from your chest, and your body trembled. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t _fair_ that a woman could steal his heart in one day, while you had been fawning over him for years.

  
You were crying so hard you didn’t hear the sound of someone climbing up the ladder.

  
“Uh... Miss L/N, are you alright?”

  
Your hands shot away from your face, and you froze when you saw Silas Kidd kneeling down in front of you.

  
“Get the fuck away from me,” you growled. You were embarrassed and angry, and ready to shove him off the loft.

  
He didn’t even flinch at the venom in your voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. I just... I heard cryin’ when I came in to feed the horses.”

  
You didn’t say anything.

  
“Look,” Silas sighed, “I don’t know what’s wrong, and I ain’t here to pry. And I don’t know why you have a problem with me, but please... are you okay?”

  
“No,” you spat. “Ain’t that obvious?”

  
He smiled a little, but it was short lived. “Yeah.. it is.”

  
“Then was no point in askin’.”

  
“Sure there is,” he said, scooting closer to you. “Coulda been tears o’ joy for all I knew.”

  
“Fuck off.”

  
“Did that wild pony of yours get you?”

  
“I _said_ -”  
“I know what you said. But I am not gonna leave a cryin’ girl alone in a dirty barn,” Silas snapped back. There was enough attitude in his tone to get you to calm down some, but little streams of tears kept falling. You tried to wipe them away.

  
“I don’t know why,” you grumbled. “This don’t concern you.”

  
“But it does,” he pressed. “I got a heart.”

  
You glared at him, and he sighed. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a red handkerchief, and handed it to you. You didn’t take it.

  
“Fine then,” he said, then reached over and brushed it over your still-wet cheeks. You almost slapped his hand away, but something made you stay still. You watched his face as he wiped at yours.

  
“ _There_ ,” he huffed. “I wasn’t gonna hurt ya. Like I said, I have a heart. You know what... you can have this. You might need it more than I do.”

  
You hesitantly took the damp cloth from his hand. There was a moment of silence where you two just stared at each other. You felt conflicted. You didn’t want help from this man, but yet your body craved it, craved to accept the care he was giving you. You didn’t even know him, but the way he ignored your impassiveness and swearing had you thinking. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  
“Y/N,” you said quietly. “My name is Y/N.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this one! It’s a bit fast moving, I’m sorry. It’s gonna have serveral parts, and a lot of angsty reader lol. So be prepared!! Thank you for reading!!


	21. Needle’s Eye: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, you go to church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I really enjoyed writing his one, it might be my personal favorite so far. I hope you enjoy!

_*May 6, 1882*_  
The sound of singing voices echoed throughout the extravagant church to the melodious trills and hums of a great organ. You swayed awkwardly to the music, fingers caught in an anxious tangle at the ribbons of your dress. Beside you, Dutch was quietly singing along from the song book, leaning towards you so you could read from it, too. His deep voice was like the low roll of thunder, barely sound enough to be heard among the choir of people around you, but you could feel the rumble of it. The smell of his cologne was sweet and warm, and it one of the few things that kept you grounded.

  
You hadn’t been to church in years. And to be back in one, with the statues of Virgin Mary and Jesus staring at you, you felt guilty. Your father had worked hard to raise you honest and to raise you right, all in the name of the lord and in love, but here you were, bathed in the colored light of holy stained glass that spotted your skin like your sins. You were lying in God’s house, pretending to be someone you’re not just to steal from a preacher. It didn’t feel right.

  
Dutch gently pulled your arm when people had began sitting back down in the pews. You hadn’t even noticed the song ended, or that you’d dazed right through the prayer.

  
Your corset pinched and squeezed when you took a seat. Never before had you worn one until Miss Grimshaw forced you into it. She seemed delighted to cinch it up for you, and to pin your hair up in rollers after a bath. She even painted up your face for you, rambling on the whole time about how womanly and pretty you looked all cleaned up. But the powder she put on your face was far too pale for your darkened skin and you hated it. You despised how the corset made it hard to walk, talk, sit, and breathe. The make up felt heavy and itchy, but you couldn’t touch it or it’d smear. Even your dress was a nuisance, especially in the heat. It was all decor and layer after layer, and you felt like a stuffed peacock. You were miserable, uncomfortable, and riddled with guilt as you sat all stiff and straight on the bench.

  
A man sauntered up onto the stage, his boots clacking hard against the wooden surface. You watched him as he walked over to the podium. He moved with heavy steps, bow legs bending even more as the weight of his plump body fell onto it. His slacks were clean and black, tucked into leather boots that practically sparkled. He wore a fancy, glimmering silver belt buckle and a fancy tie to match. His brown hair was streaked with white and slicked back. His eyes were small and beady, like a opossum’s. He stepped behind the podium, and smiled.

  
“Good morning brothers and sisters, sons and daughters of God!” he shouted. His voice was booming, and it startled you. The crowd clapped like he’d said something remarkable. You and Dutch glanced at each other.

  
“It is so lovely to see each and every one of you gathered here today. It is truly the lords work, that all of you hard workin’ folk were able to get out of bed on this glorious day to join me in the worshippin’ of our great, generous God!”

  
Something about this man was off. Remembering back to when you attended church with your father, you knew something wasn’t right. Sure, the sermon could get loud and exciting, but the preacher always was humble, and carried himself modestly. This man, however, screamed self-importance. You understood why Hosea thought something was fishy, and you didn’t feel quite so guilty anymore.

  
“This must be Mr. Tanner,” Dutch whispered into your ear. You nodded.

  
“Today, we are gonna talk about _love_ ,” Tanner said as he stepped back out from the podium. He prowled the stage, pacing between the angelic statues of Mary and her son like a hungry lion. “Love is the most important thing. Love is what draws us to God, and him, to us. God _is_ love. He provides to those who spread his word, those like us. Yes, brothers and sisters, our love in God is what puts food in your mouth and clothes on your backs. You know, it is written in the Bible, God’s very own word: ‘He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’ Did you catch that? To _love mercy_? Yes, to love God is to love mercy. And that means, to forgive your neighbor when he does wrong. That love, allows you to stay humble. Yes, my friends, humility is one of the key principles of being a Good Christian!”

  
As you listened to him rattle on and on about what love meant, your ears burned. He rapidly snowballed from one point to another, so quickly you could hardly understand what he was saying. Nothing of it made sense, but his energy was constant, and he shouted his “praise” until his face was purple and the women in the pews were almost crying. You were confused at all the excitement, and you looked at Dutch. His brow was low, thumb petting at his chin as he watched and listened to this man preach. Dutch was trying to catch onto his personality, and picking out words and that seemed to appeal to the crowd. Dutch was clever, you knew. You just didn’t know how he could stand the rising energy in the room or this man’s loud, obnoxious and incessant voice. And it went on and _on_ like that for what felt like forever.  


  
Until a man stood up, choked dramatically, and fell to the floor, convulsing.  


  
The whole crowd gasped, scooting to the edges of their seats. You could only blink and stare in shock at what was happening. You could hear Dutch trying not to laugh beside you.  


  
“Oh, no, brother Ruth!” Tanner screamed, rushing down towards the floor where the man fell. He put his hands on the man, panting hard because he had to run. The crowd was going crazy now, murmuring and others shouting. A woman even stood up and needlessly screeched.  


  
“ _Quiet!_ Quiet everyone! I- I hear God’s voice! He’s speaking to me!” Tanner called above the pews. Everyone settled back down. “He- he’s telling me- that our dear brother hasn’t been humble! He’s been lackin’ love, and that made room for a devil in ‘im! Stay back, stay back everyone! I must expel this demon from our beloved brother!”  


  
Ruth shook and trembled and spit as Tanner put his hands over his chest and began praying at the top of his lungs. He got so caught up in it you could see the vein throbbing on his big pink forehead.  


  
Never in your life had you seen anything like this. Your heart was pounding and you were almost scared. Anxiety caught up in you and your hands began shaking. There was too much sound, too much commotion. Your palms began to sweat.  


  
Suddenly Ruth jumped up, arms in the air with a smile.  


  
“I am _free!_ I am free of the devil! Thank the lord, thank Jesus and mother Mary! Thank you, Father Tanner!” he hollered, waving his hands frantically.  


  
Tanner struggled to his feet, huffing and puffing. But he still turned to the crowd, sweat beading on his face. You frowned when his dark eyes twinkled despite himself.  


  
“He... the Lord says, the lord says to me, he was possessed because he hadn’t put no money in the box for two months!”  


  
The people hollered and threw up their hands. You shrank.  


  
“I think it’s best,” Tanner gasped, “that we pass around the bowl, and everyone put in some money so they’re love won’t grow stale, their humility will remain, and so Satan the Devil cannot put one of his demons inside of you!”  


  
The woman who was playing the organ took down a big wooden bowl, and began passing it around. Everyone feverishly dug into their pockets and purses, tossing in coins and paper dollars, or whatever they had.  


  
You looked across the aisle to wear Hosea was sitting with Arthur. The older man was suppressing a grin, and Arthur was staring ahead with a deeply troubled look. Your eyes lingered over his face, but the sight of him only made your anxiety feel worse. You bit your lip and looked away to the floor.  


  
Soon, the bowl reached Dutch, and he quietly put in a dollar bill, and handed the bowl to you. You stare into it, and it was full and heavy with change, jewelry, paper, and pocket watches. Dutch nudged you, and you hesitantly dropped in a quarter you’d been hoarding in your bodice. The organ woman nodded at you, and carried the bowl off to the row behind you. You looked to Dutch, and he was analyzing your face. You swallowed dryly. He patted your knee.  


  
“Thank you, thank you so much, my beautiful brothers and sisters!” Tanner shouted once the bowl had reached everyone. “The Lord thanks you greatly. He will see that this carries you through to heaven’s gates. But for now, I am sorry to say, we must end this wonderful, wonderful meeting. Our dear brother Ruth needs to hurry on home and rest up, so let us bow our heads in prayer.”  


* * *

Dutch stood behind you, hands on your shoulders as everyone around you chattered, mumbled, or filed out. The church was alive with conversation and movement, and it seemed the excitement of the exorcism still lingered. Your mind buzzed with the commotion; you hadn’t been around this much people since you and Arthur snuck off to Longsville. The memory only piled onto the stress that built in your chest.  


  
Miss Grimshaw stood beside Dutch, looking far too in-character. She was fanning herself with a flume of black feathers, lips pouted, eyes cool. She scanned everyone that passed by, and you hadn’t realized how devilish she could be. Her dress was big and a dark red, like deep blood. She looked like some villainous queen in it- and it suited her.  


  
Across the room, Hosea was talking with the man on the stage. Hosea looked especially dapper, and his suit was more ballroom than Sunday’s best. He was handsome, you had to admit. You didn’t know why he was still without a woman, given his looks and smooth talking nature. He must have reserved his suave talk for conning, because he was already leading the heavy set preacher your way.  


  
“Can you believe that cheap act?”  


  
The sound of Arthur’s voice was sudden, low, and quiet in you hear. You jumped, feeling a sudden rush of cold as your heart raced. You didn’t know he was standing there next to you, you were so caught up in your own thoughts. You tried to ignore him, but your own eyes betrayed you.  


  
Arthur looked especially fine. He was wearing a deep navy blue vest that hugged his torso tight and made his shoulders all the broader, and it paired well with his dark pinstripe slacks. The white collared shirt he wore beneath everything was clean and without a wrinkle, neatly tied off with a black bow at the neck. His handsome face was shaven smooth, hair combed back and washed. It was the nicest you’d ever seen him dress, and to see him like this made him look so grown. Arthur was so pretty, but never yours to have. Your heart caught in your throat, and you looked away.  


  
“No,” you replied in a whisper. “I can’t.”  


  
“Alright, everyone,” Dutch interrupted. “Remember who you are and what you’re doing here. Here comes Hosea.”  


  
You took in a deep breath to compose yourself as Hosea and the man parted through the crowd. People around the preacher touched his arm or shoulder, expressing themselves to him as he waddled by, but he only nodded and smiled at them. Hosea kept chatting on until the potbelly pig of a man was right in front of you. He smelt like cigar smoke and sweat. You shuffled back a little into Dutch, and he felt how nervous you were. He gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze.  


  
“Here they are!” Hosea said brightly, one hand on the man’s back, the other pointing towards the group you were in. “Please, introduce yourselves!”  


  
“I’m Dutch Huckabee, a pleasure to meet you, Father,” Dutch started. He reached over you to shake the man’s hand. “That was a powerful, invigorating service! I have been jumping from church to church trying to find someone to restore my faith in lord, and I think I’ve found the place.”  


  
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much, sir. Really, it’s the Lord drawin’ you here, brother. He will call to those seekin’ his great and holy name,” the man said as he shook Dutch’s hand. “I’m Douglas Tanner.”  


  
“This here is my fiancée, and my daughter,” Dutch said. He gestured to Miss Grimshaw, then to you.  


  
Douglas’s eyes scoured over you, and you could feel his gaze rake over you like a cougar’s claws. You sweat beneath his stare, but didn’t look away from him for the sake of being polite. A you smiled shyly.  


  
“I’m Susan Paxton,” came the voice of Miss Grimshaw. She stuck out her glove hand for Douglas to take. “I must commend you on your sermon. I do hope that poor man is alright, and that his faith restores soon.”  


  
“As do I, Miss,” Douglas cooed. He took Susan’s hand and briefly kissed it. You wanted to slap him away from her. “Him and I are goin’ to do some prayin’ this afternoon. But I have to ask, is this your daughter, Miss?”  


  
“No,” Dutch quickly answered. He cleared his throat before continuing. “She’s just my daughter. I was married before, but... I lost my first wife, Tabitha, to death. It was hard, but got through it, didn’t we, dear?”  


  
You nodded.  


  
“She’s timid, ain’t she?” Douglas chuckled. He bent down a little to meet you eye to eye, and you could see how his sweat slicked his skin and smell the stinking his breath. You recoiled a little, smile completely dropped. “Well, blessed are the meek! What’s your name, sugar?”  


  
“Y/N,” you answered slowly, “Y/N Huckabee.”  


  
Douglas grinned, his lips curling back to expose each yellow tooth. He stood up slowly, then perched his hands on his stomach. He didn’t look away from you until Hosea spoke again.  


  
“That there is my nephew, Arthur Clark,” Hosea said.  


  
“It’s a pleasure, sir,” Arthur spoke as he shook Douglas’s hand.  


  
“What a beautiful, young family,” Douglas cooed. “It is certainly a blessing to have you here today. What brings you fine folk over this way?”  


  
“We’re looking to expand our business down here,” Hosea answered. “Lookin’ to buy a plot of land and build on it. It’s such a big town that we figured a place around here might be good for that.”  


  
“Business?” Douglas asked, his eyes going wide. “Well, it takes a lot of money to buy enough land to make somethin’ on it.”  


  
“That’s no issue for us,” Dutch said. “God has blessed us with much more than we need.”  


  
“Yes, we run a textile factory over east, in Pennsylvania. We want to give people job opportunities, and you know, contribute to this great capitalist economy,” Hosea joined.  


  
Douglas nodded, bringing a hand up to rub his naked chin. His eyes jumped from face to face as he pondered over the information he’d just received. He stood there until he smiled, and threw an arm around Hosea’s shoulder.  


  
“That is wonderful, brother. You know, it’s always best to remember the account of the widow and her money from the Bible. She gave all she had to the contribution box at the temple. She displayed great humility,” Douglas said as he smiled. “She was humble, and you all saw what can happen if you aren’t.”  


  
“Oh, we won’t forget,” Hosea laughed. “The Lord Gave is this money and he can take it away.”  


  
“Yes he can, dear brother! Yes he can,” Douglas chuckled. His whole body shook as he laughed, and there was something devious in his voice.  


  
“It’s been very nice meeting you,” Dutch said with finality, “but it’s best we get home in time for lunch.”  


  
“Yes, that’s right. It might be cold by the time we get there!” Hosea was all too natural.  
“Say goodbye, now.”  


  
You felt sick as you looked over Douglas Tanner one last time before you left. His dark beady eyes were shining as they slowly sank down towards you. They looked you from top to bottom, then back up again. He grinned, and nodded.  


  
“Goodbye, Mr. Tanner,” Arthur said politely. Miss Grimshaw gave him her fairfell.  


  
“I expect to see you all on Wednesday,” Douglas called as Dutch began leading you out.  


  
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Hosea replied.  


  
Leaving that church felt like resurfacing for breath after spending minutes with your head in a water barrel. It seemed like such a pretty, holy place when you first stepped into it. But something about Douglas Tanner was awful, and you almost excited to rob him.  


* * *

The sound of a cork popping was distant to you, even though Hosea had yanked it free from the bottle right in front of you. He and Dutch laughed as their tin mugs were filled with bourbon. Susan sat perched on a log by the fire, red lips curved into a sly smile. Arthur stood next to you, wearing a grin of his own. The excitement was lost on you, but no one really seemed to notice.  


  
“I think we’ve got him, ladies and gentlemen!” Hosea said, clanking his cup against Dutch’s.  


  
“We’ll have him wrapped around our finger in no time,” Dutch cooed. “It’s amazing what greed can do to a man.”  


  
“Here, Arthur, want a drink?” Hosea asked, “I figure we can all celebrate.”  


  
“Sure,” Arthur said, taking the bottle from the older man. He put it to his lips and took in a few heavy gulps, before handing it back with a sour face.  


  
Hosea laughed. “Strong, isn’t it?”  


  
“ _Yeah_ ,” Arthur gasped. “Damn!”  


  
“Let the girl have a sip,” Dutch said, pointing to you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink before.”  


  
Hosea held the bottle out to you with raised brows. Hesitantly, you took from him. It felt weighty and familiar in your hands. It reminded you of another time.  


  
That same feeling of wanting to spite came back, reviving itself after years of lying dormant. You were angry and tired because of him and because of the way Douglas undressed you with his stare. So, you raised the bottle and drank as much as you could until your body couldn’t take it.  


  
Hosea and Dutch laughed as you handed the bottle back. Your insides felt like fire, and the burn stuck to your tongue. It tingled along your lips, scalding them numb. You fought the urge to retch at the bitter taste. But you’d felt this before, and it was just as bad as it was then.  


  
“Easy, girl!” Hosea said, patting your shoulder. “It ain’t water.”  


  
“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I know. That tastes like shit.”  


  
“It’s an acquired taste,” Dutch chuckled. He reached out and fondly pet your hair that you’d tore from its bun on the way back to camp. His touch was comforting as the taste of alcohol blazed in your mouth. “You did well today.”  


  
“Yeah, I’m real good at doing _nothing_.”  


  
“Don’t be so down, Y/N dear. We’re here to celebrate!” Hosea chirped. He was smiling, and it was wide and warm. You couldn’t bring yourself up to return it.  


  
“I don’t much feel up to celebrating,” you mumbled. “That man, Douglas... he gave me the creeps. I guess I still have ‘em.”  


  
“Most men are creeps,” Miss Grimshaw said from her seat. “It’s something you will have to get used to.”  


  
“I don’t want to get used to it,” you replied. “Something just... isn’t right with him.”  


  
“Of course not,” Dutch said. His hand met your cheek and he softly stroked your cheek with his thumb. He wasn’t always so tender like this anymore. “He’s a crook, dear. In one of the worst kinds of ways.”  


  
“I guess,” you sighed. Dutch smiled, and dropped his hand.  


  
The two older men took their seats around the camp fire, and began laughing and joking with one another between sips of liquor. You stood among them awkwardly, fingers fidgeting as you stare passed the flames. The stress of being there at the church lingered, and so did your heartache over Arthur. It just really hadn’t been your week.  


  
A hand on your arm startled you, and you whipped around to see the very boy you had been avoiding for the past two days. He pulled you aside and your blood went cold.  


  
“Hey,” he whispered, “what’s wrong?”  


  
“Nothing,” you grumbled, trying to yank yourself free from Arthur. You couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m fine.”  


  
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You ain’t been actin’ right.”  


  
“It’s nothin’, Arthur, leave me alone.”  


  
“You say that like I don’t know you.”  


  
“You _don’t_ ,” you hissed, and plucked your arm free.  


  
Arthur’s brow creased, and his lips curled down in confusion. “What the hell do you mean?”  


  
“What do you think it means?”  


  
“I dunno, that’s why I asked. Why’re you givin’ me this crap?”  


  
You swallowed dryly. So badly you wanted to tell Arthur that you didn’t like Mary, and that you wished he’d never see her again. But you couldn’t. He’d never think of you the same, and you’d ruin the years of friendship between you two. You couldn’t tell him.  


  
“It doesn’t matter,” you sighed. It was all you could muster.  


  
“ _’It doesn’t matter’_ , my ass! You can’t say some shit like that and not explain it,” Arthur growled. He kept his voice low for your sake. Your lip trembled.  


  
“Just leave me alone, Arthur,” you pleaded.  


  
“ _What’s wrong?_ ”  


  
“Stop.”  


  
“Y/N, I’m your friend,” Arthur said urgently. “You don’t gotta be like that. I’m tryin’ to help.”  


  
“Fuck off, Arthur,” you whispered. You stepped away from him, tears gathering at your eyes. “ _Fuck off_.”  
You didn’t see the look of shock on his face as you walked away. He watched you go, standing there as if you’d just slapped him.  


  
He was your friend. And nothing, _nothing_ more.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted this chapter prematurely before I was done editing lol. I write this all on my stupid phone. I fixed it tho


	22. The Coarse Of Love Never Did Run Smooth: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re forced to come to your senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw babie!! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. More on the way

_*May 7, 1882*_

Being with Moonshine allowed you to escape. Sure, he was a pain in the ass, but it felt good to work towards something. And it was rewarding to see all the effort you put in towards him begin to pay off. He didn’t fight you so much, and wasn’t as jumpy. He began to mind you and the rope, and you always gave him treats after each session in the corral. He seemed to be learning quickly.

  
By the time it reached five in the evening, you were tired, and so was Moonshine. His body was almost black with sweat, and he hung his head. You’d worked him hard today, and wore yourself out in the process. You began pulling in the rope. Slowly, Moonshine made his way over to you.

  
“Alright boy,” you cooed gently to him, and his ears flickered towards you. “It’s time to turn in.”

  
He huffed, as if he agreed, and let you lead him back into the stables. You could feel the heat radiate off of Moonshine as you walked beside him, and you were glad you’d given him fresh water before you took him out.

  
When you let him into his stall, you stepped in with him. It wasn’t often you’d join him, because he was usually too rowdy to be so close to. But there was a calmness in him this time, a tender look about his eye. You held out a few sugar cubes for him, and he took them like a gentle mare, which was extremely contradictory to his usual buck wild, stallion nature. You smiled at the feeling of his slimy tongue, then wiped your hand clean on your pants.

  
From your pocket, you produced a little brush, the wooden handle worn smooth and the bristles dirtied and stiff. You’d taken it from a basket you’d seen Silas carrying around, and kept it for yourself. In all the time you had Moonshine, you’d never brushed him. He wouldn’t let you near enough. So while he was so docile, you figured you’d take your chance.

  
You first introduced the brush to him by letting him smell it. His nostrils flared, and you could feel his hot breath on your fingers as he sniffed. His interest wasn’t kept in it long, but he jumped a little when the brush touched his neck.

  
“Easy, boy,” you soothed, lightly dragging the brush across his fur. “It’s okay. It’s not gonna hurt ya.”

  
He snorted, but remained still for the most part. Moonshine was a big horse for his breed, his withers standing at 17 hands. His flesh was hard with strong muscle, and every inch of his blue dappled body was beautiful. You liked that he was wild, and he was rough and mean, despite how much it pissed you off.

  
In a way, Moonshine reminded you of Arthur.

  
Arthur was rough around the edges. He had a temper on him, and a quick tongue. He got under your skin and made you swoon all at once. He was big, strong, and the handsomest boy you had ever seen. You were immediately drawn to him.

  
You sighed as your thoughts went sour.

  
Part of you hated Arthur for being with that girl. You’d seen him sketching her face in his journal, and it made your heart wilt. He fancied her, and not you, and you knew that it was selfish to only want him for yourself. But you couldn’t help the feeling. Since you had gotten so used to him around you all the time, it became impossible to imagine your future without him. It was so easy to fall in love with that son of a bitch, and you knew it would be hard to give him up.

  
You brought yourself back to reality when Moonshine nickered. You pushed the image of Arthur out of your brain and focused on your horse, and how he was letting you touch him. You began to brush circles into his damp hair, leaving dark swirls of sweat along his body. He _allowed_ you to groom him.

  
“That’s a real good boy, Moonshine,” you praised. He turned his head to watch you as you brushed dirt off his rump. Before you knew it, you had combed over every part of him.

  
You pulled out the remains of an oat cake from your back pocket and gave it to him. He took it gingerly, eyelids drooping. He was tired.

  
“Alright, big man,” you sighed, “I’ll leave you be. Thank you for being so good today.”

  
Slowly, you shut and latched his stall door. He quickly called after you with huff, and it made you smile a little. He was trusting you, and you were trusting him. You put your brush away and bid the horse goodbye before making your way out of the stables.

  
“Hello, Miss L/n.”

  
You perked up at the sound of a familiar voice. You turned to see Silas standing near the doors, wearing an inviting smile. You hadn’t really spoken to him since the day he found you up in the loft, and you felt a little awkward seeing him again.

  
“You can call me Y/N,” you said plainly. Silas walked up to you, and he smelt like hay, sweat, and horses.

  
“Alright then, Y/N. Are you feeling alright?” he asked. He seemed chipper, and it almost annoyed you.

  
“Sure,” you answered in a mumble, “I’m fine.”

  
“I don’t know how much I can trust that,” he said. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “You don’t look too happy.”

  
“That’s ‘cause you’re here.”

  
He laughed. It was a brash sound, loud and cackling, and it just about made you smile. He looked at you with a grin that reached his eyes once his fit subsided.

  
“I’m not all that bad,” he said, “otherwise you wouldn’t have told me your first name.”

  
You shrugged.

  
“How’s that horse doin’? He tried to bite me the other day,” Silas said. His conversation was honest, and you let him talk.

  
“He’s doin’ good. I’ve got him warmed up to me a bit. He finally let me brush him today.”

  
“Huh, that’s a bit of a surprise. I figured it’d take years to get him even close to broke.”

  
“Nope, he’s a quick learner, thank God.”

  
“I dunno,” Silas sighed, “I kinda wish he weren’t.”

  
“Why’s that?”

  
“Well, it might mean you’d stick ‘round a bit longer.”

  
You eyes widened. “Are you flirtin’ with me, Mr. Kidd?”

  
He smiled shyly, but his charm stuck. “Call me Silas. And if I was, would you reject my advances?”

  
“If you wanna court me, _pal_ , you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you said. You could hardly believe he was flirting with you. It was flattering, and had your cheeks feeling warm. You’d never really considered him to be attractive in that way, but maybe that was because you were so head over heels for Arthur.

  
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I don’t mind working for it.”

  
“Well,” you huffed, “I wish you the best of luck.”

  
“Thank you,” he chirped. He took all your sarcasm like a breeze. “You know, I was about to head in for some supper. I seen you out here all day, and I was wonderin’... would you like to join me?”

  
“I don’t know about that,” you said, recoiling a little. It took all you had not to shy away completely and turn into a puddle of mush. You’d never been shown this kind of attention before, that wasn’t creepy or strange.

  
“Why not?” Silas asked with a tilt of the head. His eyes were round, and brown, like a dog’s.

  
“Well, I... I wouldn’t feel right enterin’ your home.”

  
“Alright then, that’s all fine. Let me take you out, the diner up here is open this late.”

  
“Don’t go spendin’ your money on me.”

  
“Miss, I have been savin’ my pay since the day I met you. I’ve been dreamin’ of takin’ you out every night since. I have plenty.”

  
You blushed. You found yourself having no words to say, and were reduced to sheepish, surprised silence. Your fingers met your collar nervously, feeling hot as Silas smiled sincerely at you. That kind of talk only existed in day dreams, you thought. And you never expected to be so easily affected by it.

  
“It’s up to you, Miss.”

  
“F-Fine,” You stuttered out quietly, “but I can’t be long. My uncle will be here to pick me up shortly.”

  
“I’ll take any time I can get with you,” Silas cooed. His openness and flirting flustered you easily, and you couldn’t tell if you liked it or not.

  
“It don’t bother you that I’m dirtier than a hog?” you asked.

  
“Not at all. And it don’t bother me none that you’re wearin’ pants, either. I’m not much different,” Silas answered. His smile hadn’t faded.

  
“Well... alright, then. What are you waitin’ for?”

* * *

Silas Kidd was the most charming, resilient, and calm man you had ever met. He didn’t bat an eye when you opted out of linking arms, or didn’t smile, or laugh at his jokes. Every other sentence that left his mouth had you blushing like a nun in a whorehouse. He wasn’t an unkind man, nor was he too annoying to deal with. He wasn’t a bad looking guy by any means, and he very polite. He didn’t swear or spit or fart, he was very gentlemanly.

  
He took you out to a little eatery that looked more like a saloon, but the food was good and so were the drinks. The two of you talked as you ate, and you told him half-truths and whole lies about your past and he told his. He was born and raised here in Potsdam, and had been helping his father on the ranch and stables since he was only a little boy. He had two other siblings but they got sick and died, so it was just him, his mama and papa living in a little house. He liked horses, and he liked fishing and reading, same as you did. You told him you were coming over from Pennsylvania with your father, step-mother, cousin, and uncle in search of some land to buy out west. He talked more about memories, and soon you found yourself a bit more opened up to him than you were earlier that evening.

  
By the time you got up to leave, the sky was dark and the streets were quiet.

  
“Oh, shit,” you sighed as you looked around outside. “Hosea’s gonna skin me alive.”

  
“Your uncle?” Silas asked.

  
“Yes,” you grumbled. “What time is it, do you know?”

  
Silas pulled out his pocket watch, and struggled to read it in the moonlight. “I think... I think it’s about 10:30?”

  
“Shit! Dammit!”  
“If it’s too late, I can buy you a hotel room. Or you can stay with me, if you’d like,” Silas offered. He looked at you half-pleadingly, but you shook your head.

  
“No, I’ve gotta get home. I promised him I’d be at the stables.”

  
“I can take you back.”

  
“No!” you practically shrieked, before quickly composing yourself. “I-I uh, I can’t let you do that. It’s late, and you might get lost on the way back-”

  
“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Just tell me how to get there, and I’ll find my way back.”

  
“Silas, no, don’t-”

  
**“There you are.”**

  
You froze. Your eyes went wide and your blood went cold, and you felt like a kid caught sneaking out passed curfew. Slowly, you turned around to see the big, looming silhouette of Arthur Morgan.

  
“Oh,” Silas said, as cheerful as ever. “Is this your... uncle?”

  
“No,” you quickly sputtered, “this is my _cousin_ , Arthur.”

  
Arthur stepped forward, and held out his hand to Silas. He spoke slowly. “Nice to meet you.”

  
Silas happily shook it, his face shining as he smiled in the dim light. “Likewise, friend! The name’s Silas Kidd.”

  
“Well, Mr. Kidd, it has been mighty _kind_ of you to watch over my little cousin here, but we must get going,” Arthur said. His voice was low, and almost condescending. Each word he said made you cringe.

  
“Oh, well, of course,” Silas replied. His voice began to sound uneasy. “It’s been a real pleasure to get to know her a little bit better. She’s a real fine lady.”

  
“ _Sure_ ,” Arthur practically growled. “Enjoy your night, Mr. Kidd.”

  
“G-Goodnight, Miss L/N!” Silas called as Arthur dragged you away. You waved back to him with Arthur’s hand on the back of your neck.

  
Once you reached Black Beard, Arthur helped you up then mounted. He kicked the horse into a fast trot, rushing to get out of town. You begrudgingly held onto him.

  
“I thought Hosea was taking me home,” you said.

  
“Sorry, but there was a change of plans,” he grumbled. He had that same bitter, angry tone he used whenever he was pissed at you. And it only soured your mood even further.

  
“Why?” You asked. Your voice sounded mean, even to yourself.

  
“‘Cause I was headin’ into town anyway, and I figured I’d just take you home myself.”

  
“Did you go to see Mary again?”

  
“Yes, in fact, I did,” he spat. “Then I went looking for your ass.”

  
“Of course,” you groaned.

  
“What’s with the goddamn attitude, ‘Miss L/N?’” Arthur mocked, venom in his voice. “You tell me to fuck off, then treat me like I’m a bother. I think I deserve to know what the hell has been goin’ on with you!”

  
“I don’t have to tell you _shit_.”

  
“Sure, but you go and tell that idiot your full name?”

  
“Shut up, Arthur. He ain’t an idiot, and he ain’t a bad guy.”

  
“What were you even doin’ with him this late?!”

  
“He took me out.”

  
“ _He took you out_. I could see that damn much, what were you really doin’ with that old creep?”

  
“He ain’t old, either! He’s only a couple years older than you.”

  
“A couple? How much is a couple?”

  
“I dunno, two or three. What’s it matter to you? It ain’t like you care.”

  
“ _Oh_ ,” he snarled, “I do fucking **care**. You _know_ I care, I told you I did!”

  
“You said you’d care _better_!”

  
“I’m trying! Do you know how hard it is to show you I care when you keep bitchin’ and whinin’ like this? You ignore me for days, then when I try to reach out, you push me away. Now you’re runnin’ off with an older man after dark. What’s is goin’ on?!”

  
“You- you wouldn’t understand!”

  
“I ain’t so stupid as you think I am, Y/N.”

  
“Yes, you are,” you said, and you felt tears begin to fall. “You’re real stupid, Arthur Morgan.”

  
“Am I the problem?!”

  
“Yes!” You shouted. “You’re the goddamn problem!”

  
Arthur fell silent, and the only sound was your shaky breaths and the pounding of Black Beard’s hooves. The night went by fast as you rode along, trees nothing but blurs in the moonlight. You hated to be holding onto Arthur like you were, because right now you loathed him. But your body begged you not to, and wanted to sink into him. You held back sobs.

  
“Why am I the problem?” he asked, but his voice was so quiet you barely heard it. You squeezed your eyes shut.

  
“ _Because_ ,” You wheezed, “Because you’re w-with that Mary girl.”

  
“What?”

  
“You heard me.”

  
“I don’t- _what?_ What about Mary makes you so mad at me?”

  
“She... she’s all high society, Arthur!” You gritted out. It was only part of the truth.

  
“Why does that matter?” he asked through his teeth. “You’ve met her once, you don’t know what she’s like. Just because she ain’t poor don’t mean she’s a bad person!”

  
“Anyone else and you’d rob them.”

  
“Y/N- I’m gettin’ real sick of this shit!”

  
“She’s gonna hurt you in the end, Arthur! I just know it!”

  
“You don’t know a goddamn thing,” he snapped.

  
“Neither do you,” you mumbled, but you don’t think he heard it over the sound of Black Beard’s hooves.

  
“Being with Mary makes me feel real happy in a way I’ve never felt before, Y/N,” Arthur said. His voice was softened a little, but still on the edge of angry as he spoke. “I ain’t been happy in a long time, not really. She’s sweet, kind, and real gentle. She don’t care that I look the way I do. She has a good heart- she makes me feel good, Y/N. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  
Your head dropped between his shoulders as he spoke. Tears began to flow freely now, like two spring rivers down your cheeks. Pain gripped your heart like a vice, and only got worse the more he talked about Mary. About happiness. You had always thought he was a little bit happy when he was with you, with how he laughed and seemed to enjoy your company. But you weren’t sweet, and only kind sometimes, and the way you lived did not ask you to be gentle. You’d never be Mary, or anything like her. Arthur would never want you as anything more than a friend.

  
You wanted to scream. You wanted to jump off the horse and crawl home just to be away from him. You wanted to tell him you hated him. But you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. You were being selfish, you knew. Arthur was not yours to have, and it wasn’t fair of you to feel like he was. He was allowed to see Mary, he was his own person. And as hard as that was to accept, it was still true. You couldn’t let one woman he just met ruin everything you had with Arthur. You had to suck up your pride, and all this hurt for his sake. He mattered to you, and you must stay loyal to him.

  
“Yes,” you choked out, “it does.”

  
“Then why are you actin’ like this?”

  
“I don’t know,” you sobbed, desperate to tell him anything but the truth. “I don’t know, Arthur, I’m sorry, I-I’m _sorry!_ ”

  
“If you’re really sorry, I need you to stop treatin’ me this way,” he said. “It ain’t fun, Y/N. You’re... you’re my best friend.”

  
For the last few minutes it took to ride back to camp, it was almost quiet. He said nothing more on his part, while you cried into his back and sobbed out little “I’m sorry”’s. You were so grief-stricken that you hardly even realized you were back home until Arthur stopped the horse and slipped off. He helped you down, slowly and carefully. You were a shivering mess.

  
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you whimpered. You found his hand in the dark, and held it tight. “I’m so sorry.”

  
He squeezed your palm gently with his fingers. “I know,” he said, without a trace of anger.

  
You fell into him, sobbing even harder and louder than you were before. Arthur caught you, and held you like you’d never argued, or said anything cruel. He was warm, and solid, and he kept you against his chest like he was scared you’d take off.

  
You loved Arthur Morgan, enough to try to keep being the friend he needed, even when it hurt like hell.


	23. A Moment to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You crave a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is a bit of a filler chapter, it’s short and Arthur-less. I appreciate all the kudos and comments, they really help me keep up my zeal for writing this. But I would really like to know what you guys genuinely think of the story and my writing so far, and what you’d like to possibly see happen. I want to keep you and myself satisfied with the story, so let me know how YOURE doing, and how I’m doing!! Ily you guys. Thank you so much

_*May 8, 1882*_

Everything looked dim when you awoke, and as you blinked the bleariness from your eyes, you at first thought you had woken up earlier than you liked. But the soft sound of raindrops led you to think otherwise, and that the clouds were just hiding the sun. You sat up in your cot, wincing at the ache in your muscles.

Copper was lying on the ground near the entryway of your little tent. His brown eyes peaked open at the sound of your shifting, and he wagged his tail without lifting his head. It wasn’t often he joined you at night, he much preferred Arthur. But nonetheless, you gave him a quiet “good morning” and got up to get ready for the day.

You shed your clothes from last night and pulled on a clean pair of undergarments. You decided to wear a light blouse and your most comfortable skirt today, and tied your long hair back into a ratty, grubby bun. You dodged the mirror though, not wishing to see your face just yet. After putting on some socks, you stepped into your boots. Copper followed you out of your tent.

The sky was one solid shade of light grey, the clouds high but not without rain. It was thin, sprinkling rain, almost mist. The drops felt good against your skin, and the smell of it refreshed you. It hadn’t rained very much this year, despite it being spring. Looking around the camp, you saw all the basins and barrels and troughs were set out to collect the rain, likely the work of Miss Grimshaw. The horses were grazing quietly along the tree line. You could hear muffled voices, and see a weak trail of smoke floating through the air. It was peaceful, and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a quiet, easy day at camp.

You found Miss Grimshaw nestled beneath an open make-shift structure, tending to a little fire shielded by an old piece of canvas. Her eyes were tired as she greeted you, and something compelled you to sit down next to her. You folded your legs beneath you, knees in the dirt. The dog lay beside you, gnawing a stick.

“Been awhile since we seen rain,” you said quietly.

“I know,” the woman agreed. “Or at least, it feels like it. We spent so long in Texas.”

“I hope we don’t ever go back,” you laughed. “The winter wasn’t so bad, though.”

“I’m still glad we got out of there.”

“Is Arthur up yet?” you asked suddenly, glancing around.

“He left for town a bit ago, you barely missed him,” Susan answered. She took up a shirt you hadn’t noticed before, and began to sew a button onto it. “You two been out quite a lot lately.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “we have. I’ve been working with Moonshine.”

She glanced at you. “Until after sundown?”

The memory of yesterday hit you full force, and you flustered. “N-No, I just... got caught up in some other business.”

“You better not have been lendin’ yourself to no boy.”

“No, no, it ain’t like that,” you blushed. “The stablehand there... he just got me some supper, and talked about the ranch. Nothin’ bad, I wouldn’t-”

“You best remember what we talked about, girl,” she said, voice firm and hard. “Keep your head about you. Don’t let him flatter you into droppin’ your drawers.”

You laughed a little, despite how embarrassed you felt. She swatted at your arm scoldingly, but you could tell she was trying not to smile.

“I won’t, I promise,” you said through a giggle. 

“Good. Keep your dignity for as long as you can, Y/N. And don’t be stayin’ out so late.”

“Y/N? Is that you I hear out there?”

You looked up at the mention of your name, and recognized Dutch’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you answered.

“Come on over!”

Miss Grimshaw waved you off, and you got up to pay Dutch a visit at his tent. His door flaps were tied open, and when you looked in, you saw him and Hosea sitting across from each other. Hosea was cutting at a green twig with a little knife, and Dutch was nursing a cup of coffee with a book on his lap. You shyly stepped in.

“How are you this morning?” Dutch asked, looking up from his book with a smile. He scooted over some from where he sat on his cot, quietly inviting you to take a seat.

“I’m okay,” you answered, and sat down. “I’m still tired.”

“Here,” he said, offering you his cup of coffee. “You can have the rest of that if you’d like. I’ve already had myself a few cups.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the mug from his hands. “Is... did you put anything in it?”

“A little sugar,” he replied. “Why?”

“She doesn’t like how bitter coffee is,” Hosea chuckled.

“Oh, you get used to it,” Dutch said. He nudged you a little. “You’ll like it when you’re older.”

“That’s what Hosea said.”

“Take his word for it, then. Always listen to the wise wisdom of your elders.”

“I ain’t that old yet!” Hosea barked.

“You were complain’ about it the other day,” Dutch laughed. “What changed your mind?”

“You did,” Hosea replied.

“You’re envious of my youth.”

The two men fell into soft laughter, and you watched them from over the brim of your mug. They had a brilliant dynamic, the perfect balance of wreck and reason. The two truly were best friends, your two fathers, and as you sat here looking at them in their now content silence, you realized how you took advantage of them. You took them for granted. They had given you so much, everything you could ever need. It felt as if you didn’t spend enough time with them, or that there was so much more to learn. Your heart twinged.

“How are you two?” you asked slowly. You held your cup in your lap. You didn’t remember ever asking them that question before.

Hosea looked up at you, eyes surprised, but he a smile on his face. “I’m alright, dear.”

“I am too,” Dutch answered. “I’m excited about this gig we’ve got goin’. I can feel everything’s gonna go our way.”

“Ah, that reminds me. That feller who was ‘possessed’ by the devil, he was one of the boys I took for a drink. No doubt in my mind he was paid for that. _I’ve_ done better acting than that,” Hosea said.

“Anyone could, really,” Dutch laughed. He closed his book and set it down. “After this score, we’re going to have to get a move on.”

“How soon will that be?” you asked.

“I’m not sure, Y/N. It could be months, or even next week.”

“Where will we go after this?”

“We might run through Mississippi, or Louisiana. Then we’ll turn around, and head west.”

_West_. That word had never sounded pretty or even interesting to you until you met Dutch. He spoke of it like a promised land, like something holy. There were some nights after supper, and everyone sat around the fire, he’d talk about finding land out near California, or in the Oregon territory. You’d all ride out passed the Dakotas, through the hills and the mountains, together. And once the perfect spot was found, you’d create a paradise. Live life the way it should be. It was beautiful to you, and you wanted it more than anything. You’d have your family, freedom, and prosperity. That’s all you needed.

”Good,” Hosea said, “I don’t like being this far down south.”

“None of us do,” Dutch agreed. “The spirit of the Confederacy still lingers. That bothers me more than the heat.”

“It might not ever fade.”

“That’d be a real shame.”

“Dutch, Hosea,” you said, interrupting their conversation. “Can you... tell me about the plan? What we’re going to do once we get there? Out west, I mean.”

Dutch and Hosea shared a look with each other, and smiled.

You needed a distraction, _craved_ one. Last night haunted you with heartache, and you didn’t want to think about it. A book couldn’t satisfy your need to escape reality this time. So when Dutch began to paint the picture of liberty once again, you nestled down into his cot, sipping on the half-bitter coffee. He and Hosea took turns sharing their ideal future, and it went from story, to a conversation of their own. And as they talked, you were free to envision what you wanted.

And that was a humble life, one that was half-way settled down. A farm, maybe. A little house, with a few dogs like Copper, and Moonshine as your trusty steed. You’d work with the animals and come in to make supper as the evening set in. You’d go to market and sell vegetables, eggs, and whatever extra goods you’d made. On Sunday, you’d visit Hosea, and Dutch, and even Susan, and have dinner. And you and Arthur would live together under the same roof, eat breakfast together every morning. You’d crawl into bed together when the day was done, and do it all over again until you were both old, and still in love. Maybe even have a child or two, or a dozen.

But that was a dream, and nothing more. Just an image of a life you might not even have. For now, though, it sufficed. You could sink into this dream and forget everything that was the present, that was hurt and unfairness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out to normally space paragraphs lol. Also, sharing coffee with ur child is a Big Dad Move and no one can tell me otherwise


	24. Needle’s Eye: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have dinner with Douglas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter!! It was good to hear your thoughts so far. And thank you to everyone who gave kudos and everyone who’s read this story so far!! I hope you enjoy this chapter, more coming soon!  
> Warning for this chapter: Racism, slurs

_*May 17, 1882*_

You ate quietly as you sat at the long wooden dining table. It was hard to eat with your corset so tight, but you were hungry and hadn’t had such a good meal in a long time. The fact that you had the chance to eat something that wasn’t soupy got you excited enough to endure the ever growing issue that was your torturous corset, and the fact that you were in Douglas Tanner’s house.

It was just about everything you expected it to be. It was a big, two-story brick plantation house. Each room was spacey, with high ceilings and light painted walls. The furnishing looked expensive, and you’d never seen so many needless decoration in your life. The property seemed to stretch on forever, it was miles and miles of fields. Great weeping willow trees grew in the front yard, and it made for a pretty scene if there wasn’t such a horrible story behind the house, or if such a nasty man lived in it.

After a few more visits to church, Mr. Tanner had kindly invited your “family” over for some “good association”. It was more than obvious he was just trying to coax money from you by seeming like a good guy, but his veil was much too thin and his intentions were plain as day. This man thrived off of inheritance, the poor’s money, and cheap labor. He was the definition of white, greedy, capitalist scum.

He sat at the head of the table, reclined in his fancy chair like the king of pigs. A white napkin cloth was stuffed into his collar, which he seemed to need because he ate with the grace of a toddler. Crumbs were all down his front and all over his face. Sweat glistened on his forehead despite the inside not even being that hot. He ate a lot and fast, and had already poured himself several glasses of French imported wine.

Hosea sat to Tanner’s right, and Dutch to his left. You were seated beside Miss Grimshaw, and across from you, was Arthur. He was just as quiet, and trying not to scarf down his food, same as you were. It was very hard to act prim and proper when you were the furthest thing from it.

“Tell us, Mr. Tanner, does God really talk to you?” Dutch asked, feigning stupidity. It was so unlike him to sound so naive and innocent. You had been watching the conversation from the opposite end of the table.

Douglas Tanner leaned back in his seat, cheeks looking rosy from the alcohol. His fat hands settled on his spherical stomach, and a crooked smile split his face.

“Yes, he does, Mr. Huckabee,” Douglas said. He sucked in a breath before continuing. “I discovered the gift when I was a young boy. My grandpops was a preacher, and he’d read me the Bible while my daddy was managin’ the plantation. He told me to pray every night, and that if I did, God would answer them. So every night I did, and I prayed to be just like my grandpappy and to always have God’s blessin’. One night, in a dream, I heard his voice, _God’s voice_ , sayin’ that one day, when my grandpa would pass, I’d have to take his place. Sure enough, I did. And it was the greatest gift I’d ever received. All I have to do is open my heart, and his message comes right to me.”

You almost choked at his terrible lie. He was so transparent, it was a wonder how anyone could ever believe him. His stories were like those of a poorly-written fairy tale. It didn’t make sense and didn’t add up. Arthur’s foot gently kicked at yours under the table, and you quickly composed yourself.

“Your grandfather must have been a good man,” Hosea said. “Teachin’ you right in the name of God. You’re certainly blessed to hear his voice like you do.”

Douglas nodded, faking humility. “Yes, I was sad to see him go. Broke my heart, it did. But I know pappy’s up in heaven, now. God reminds me of it every time I get to feeling low.”

“Then we mustn’t dwell on the subject too long,” Dutch spoke, “We don’t wish to bring you unpleasant memories.”

“Thank you,” Douglas replied, his lips pressing thin. “This is to be a joyful evening. So, why don’t you folks tell me about your business?”

_Your business_. He was obsessed with this fictional factory Dutch and Hosea supposedly owned. It was appropriately named Gudgeon Textiles Factory, and Mr. Tanner didn’t seem to catch onto it. Hosea went on to talk about location, how it started, and how easy it was to find employees. He talked about the poor, wages, money, and immigrant workers. Dutch added things here and there, and their stories, explanations, and information all fit together seamlessly. It boggled your mind how much they actually seemed to know, but it looked as if it all went over Douglas’s head, too. All he did was nod along like he understood. But the truth is, he probably only understood that the word business meant money, and that was all he was interested in.

The night carried on, and so did conversation. Wine was passed around, bottles were emptied, plates were cleared. Douglas seemed to get too carried away, because his glass was to his lips every time he wasn’t talking. He got louder, messier, and just all around less put together. It worried you a little, but you figured everything was fine as long as you weren’t alone.

“How about dessert?” Douglas said, his round, heavy face blooming red as he smiled.

Hosea, Dutch, and Susan were all easy and composed, nodding their heads with hands in the laps. However, you and Arthur stare at each other from across the table, equally surprised. The last time you had something even remotely considered dessert was when Dutch bought you and Arthur chocolate for Christmas. Your mouth watered at the thought of something sweet.

Douglas picked up a little silver bell and rang it hard, and the shrill sound almost had your ears ringing. Soon after, a few servants came in and took your plates away. It was hard to believe that someone could pay a person to do their chores, and the luxury of it was extremely foreign to you. You thanked the servant girl who took your dishes away, and she said nothing. She didn’t even smile, or look you in the eye. It bothered you some, but you figured if you had to wash plates all day, you wouldn’t be too happy either.

A woman wheeled in a cart, heavily decorated with pies and other sweets you’ve never even seen before. It was all fancy and far too much for six people. And when the servant girl began dishing it out to everyone and reached you, you couldn’t even try not to smile. But the joy of fine cuisine was short lived when the women left and Douglas opened his mouth.

“I hate Negros,” he said, mouth full of pie. “They’re dirty. They live dirty. Ain’t one clean thing about them, I tell ya. And they’re stupid.”

You froze when he chuckled. And taking a look around at everyone else, they seemed just as shocked. Hosea just stare at him with wide eyes, but Dutch was having trouble keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he continued to cut at his dessert.

“You know, my mom and pa used to run slaves on this plantation. A whole lot of them, about a hundred, maybe. They’d work and work, and some o’ ‘em even tried runnin’ off. Well my daddy, he, he uh, he had to punish ‘em for that, as one does. And they’d tried attackin’ ‘im! So he killed ‘em. Shot them right dead, to the ground,” Douglas laughed. “They’s disgustin’ things. Pigs are more deservin’ of respect then them monsters.”

Dutch cleared his throat. “That’s... a very interesting view, Mr. Tanner. I thought God was loving, enough to embrace _all_ his children...?”

“Lemme tell ya somethin,” Douglas began. His voice was a bit too loud, his face red. He obviously had drank a little too much. “Even God makes mistakes. Remember, remember in uh, Genesis, yes, the story of Noah’s ark, the purpose of the flood was to kill what he created. And even the Devil, yes, Satan the Devil himself was an angel, a perfect, beautiful angel! And he betrayed God!”

“So you think it’s right to compare an innocent person to a demon simply because they’re _colored?_ ” Dutch asked, voice on edge. He was gripping his fork tight, and you could see how his jaw clenched. Susan put a hand on his knee below the table, and even Hosea shot him a look.

“Yes, yes I do,” Douglas answered, like it was the easiest thing to answer. “I don’t like them damn Mexicans, or them redskins. They’re all savage, uncultured, rotten swine, they are, uh huh. Not a good thin’ ‘bout ‘em!”

“Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, sir,” Hosea said quickly, before Dutch could lose his temper. “We come from a bit up north, you see, so these ideals... well, we cannot sympathize.”

Douglas leaned forward, gaze heavy on Hosea as he studied him with his small eyes. His demeanor changed, and the air around the room felt suddenly heavy. You found yourself unable to look away from him, paused mid-chew.

“So you sayin’... you sided with the _Union_?” he drawled, slow and cold.

“I side with the Lord,” Hosea answered, as calm as ever. “And I raise my family to do the same.”

Douglas looked over at Dutch, who only strained out a tight-lipped smile and nodded. His eyes passed over Miss Grimshaw, then you, then Arthur. It wasn’t hard to decide you hated this man.

You lost your appetite when Douglas laughed.

It was loud, sudden, and unnerving. You almost jumped right out of your seat at the sudden explosion of cackling noise. He wheezed and choked until his face was almost purple, and he was rocking back and forth in his chair. You were disturbed, and no one else said a thing.

“I like y’all,” Douglas said with a grin, “yous gots the right attitude ‘bout ya. Uh huh, you do! Folk like yous is very, very special.”

Hosea nodded. “Thank you, uh, Mr. Tanner. You’re quite special, too.”

“Yes,” Dutch gritted out, “very _special_ indeed.”

* * *

The rest of the visit was mostly Douglas Tanner being drunk and Dutch holding his tongue. For the remainder of the night, Douglas would alternate between twisting scriptures, being racist, and bashing the poor. Any ounce of doubt you might have had left about this man completely vanished. He was rotten.

He took his time explaining how God looked down upon “darkies”. Apparently, color equated to “savage”, and “savage” meant they weren’t “Christian”. He was very hypocritical for a preacher- he stole from the poor and didn’t believe that teaching allowed for others to find salvation. To him, it seemed that white was the same thing as wisdom, and that was how God intended it to be.

He talked about Indians, Native Americans. But he called them redskins. He told about how they were all inherently violent, and stupid. He said his grandfather knew and killed a few, and how they were akin to rats- an infestation of pests, riddled with disease and a waste of creation. It had your blood boiling, but you kept your mouth shut.

Breathing was much easier when you finally left the plantation house.

Your stolen stagecoach was waiting for you, horses hitched and itching to get going. You all bid Tanner a goodnight and farewell, and that you’d see him on Sunday. The moment the little carriage pulled onto the road, you began pulling the ribbons and pins from your hair.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Miss Grimshaw said, face souring. She plucked a few discarded pins from the ground.

“I didn't want them to begin with,” you grumbled back. 

“You will one day.” 

You scoffed. “Yeah, when?”

“When that stable boy takes you out proper.”

“Should it have to matter that much what my hair looks like?”

“Yes, if you’re a lady, it does.”

“We both know she isn’t,” Arthur laughed. He was sitting across from you and Miss Grimshaw. You rolled your eyes.

“How funny, Arthur,” you said, yanking the last bits of knots from your hair. “It gets better every time you say it.”

“I know,” he replied, a smile on his face as he leaned back. You looked over him in the low warm light of a the lantern. He was staring back at you.

“Hush,” you grumbled. “I hate wearin’ all this shit. Maybe he wouldn’t look at me so often if I was in somethin’ else.”

“Who?” Arthur asked. His amusement quickly faded.

“That preacher, Douglas Tanner,” you bit out. 

“Men’s gonna stare no matter what, child,” Susan said. She crossed her legs and straightened out her skirt, looking to get more comfortable.

“He don’t got the right to,” Arthur hissed. “He’s suppose’ to be a man of God, not some... some-”

“Piggish goddamn bastard,” you finished. Arthur’s lips curled up a little, and you shyly smiled. Things had gotten a bit awkward between the two of you since the night he found you with Silas, and you’d been trying to repair it. It was hard, because your hurt still stuck and you felt he owed you an apology just as much as you owed him one. But you sucked up to save face. You needed to put your emotions away for the sake of your friendship.

“Well, he is what he is,” Susan mumbled. She crossed her arms and tucked her chin to her chest, eyes falling closed. “And he will get what he deserves. Whether by our hand, or the Lord’s.”

There was silence between everyone for a while. The wagon wheels squeaked quietly as the horses pulled them along. You could hear the beasts sigh, snort, and grumble over the clopping thud of their hooves. The murmuring, quiet voices of Dutch and Hosea were muffled from where they sat outside on the bench, steering the horses. Soon, the soft ambience was broken by Miss Grimshaw’s snoring.

You took in a breath, shocked by your own urge to move over to Arthur. He looked beautiful in the light, like he always did. The line of his jaw was strong, and his eyes were sharp and clear. His hair was slicked back with pomade this time, and it looked almost brown with the gel and in the darkness. He was dressed simply, but nicely. You wanted to reach out and touch his face, touch the blondness of his eyelashes. But the most you could do was almost choke on your own spit, and shift over towards where he sat.

Your breath hitched when his shoulder touched yours. Your hand was so close to his knee. You could smell the musk of him, and the sweetness of the product in his hair. He looked at you, into your eyes, and it almost felt like he could read your thoughts. Your pulse ran hard and fast. He effected you so much, it wasn’t fair. And here Arthur was, sitting there like he wasn’t bothered by a thing.

“Do you really like that Silas Kidd?” he asked, and it caught you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper. “I... I don’t know him too well.”

“Do you want to?”

“I’m not sure, Arthur.”

“Why not?”

Anxiety pumped your stomach full of venom. Your mouth went dry and suddenly, Arthur’s eyes were all you could see and your tongue was in knots. One thought ran through your mind, and it would be so, so easy to say: _I love you_.

But you couldn’t.

“I... I just can’t see myself marryin’ him.”

Arthur looked away with a soft wheeze and chuckle. Your heart stopped for a moment.

“You think ‘bout that when you first meet a man?” he asked, amused.

“No,” you answered honestly. “I don’t really think nothin’ of no man, other than what he got in his holster or his pocket. Same was for Silas, almost. I guess maybe, maybe that I only went with ‘im to be kind, or ‘cause... ‘cause he was so sweet. And nobody been sweet like that to me before. But he don’t make me laugh, or talk like I’m a friend. I ain’t so trustin’ of him- like I am other people. I dunno, I just- there’s somethin’ about him.”

_He isn’t you _, you longed to say. You could confess right here, right now, in this moment. It was on the tip of your tongue.__

____

“I see,” he mumbled. He seemed shy of your gaze now.

____

You would have asked if he really did like Mary, but you knew the answer already. So you kept your mouth shut. But as thoughts spun around in your head, one settled, and shocked you enough to say it out loud.

____

“Does it bother you my mother was an Indian?”

____

The words felt stupid coming out of your mouth, but you almost didn’t care. You wanted to know if that’s maybe why Arthur didn’t see you as how he saw Mary.

____

He looked up at you, bewildered. “No,” he said. “What the hell made you think that? Do I act like it bothers me or somethin’?”

____

“N-No,” You stuttered out. “I just... after everything Douglas said tonight, I wanted to know.”

____

“Douglas said a lot of things that ain’t true,” Arthur said, quick and quietly. “He’s nothin’ but scum, Y/N. Don’t listen to him. There’s nothin’ wrong with you for havin’ your mama be who she was.”

____

You blushed a little, and looked to your lap. Your mother died when you were so young, you barely remembered anything about her besides what your older brothers and father told you. You were so disconnected from that part of yourself, your mother’s culture. In a way, it made you feel like a fraud. For all you knew, what Douglas said about their “savage ways” could have been true. You didn’t know much about the Natives despite it running in your blood. 

____

“It’s kinda funny,” you mumbled, “that he looks at me like a piece of meat, and I’m half of what he hates.”

____

Arthur smiled a little. “I ain’t gonna let him touch you.”

____

“I don’t wanna get close enough to him to give ‘im the chance to.”

____

“I’m not sure what’s gonna happen, or how exactly we’re gonna get his money.” Arthur said, leaning towards you a little. “but you might have to talk to him. You might have to get close to him. There’s no tellin’ how it will go. But I swear on my life that I’m not going to let him lay a finger on you.”

____

For a moment, you stare into his eyes. There was meaning there, and a sense of comfort that had you blindly reaching for his hand. Your lips found their way into a smile, and you felt safe. You most always did, when you were with him.

____

“Thank you, Arthur,” you whispered, your fingers curling between his. “I trust you.”

____

He nodded. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, by how he searched your face and lips were taut, but nothing came out. Instead, he squeezed your hand a little harder and looked towards the window.

____

You didn’t know if you were happy or not that he didn’t say anything. But you were glad he didn’t pull away from you. You’d take any touch you could get from him, even if it was greedy and wrong because he wanted someone else. You just hoped that one day, he’d see you as you saw him.

____


	25. The Course of Love Never Did Run Smooth: III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I hadn’t updated very much recently, life has been kicking me in the balls. I’ll try to get more in as soon as I can!! As always, thank you for reading!!

_*May 22, 1882*_

“Thank you, Mister Kidd.”

“I’ve told you to call me Silas.”

“Sorry,” you grumbled, staring into the jar of water Silas handed to you. It was clear, and cool in your hand. You put it to your mouth took several long gulps. 

“It’s alright,” he said, “I just sincerely hope we’re beyond the point of formalities.”

You looked over at him. You were taking a break from Moonshine, sitting on the fence as you rest. Silas had been kind enough to bring you something to drink, and joined you. He occasionally teetered on the long plank of wood. It worried you some, but you decided you wouldn’t be too concerned if he fell over. 

“I guess,” you said. “I ain’t too sure what to make of things.”

“So I don’t have your heart?”

“Bold of you to assume I have one.”

“I know you do,” Silas laughed. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t deal with this horse, or with me.”

“Maybe I just ain’t willing to give it up yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said, easy and without strain. “We’ll see how things go.”

“I ain’t too sure how much longer I got left here, Silas,” you sighed. You hold your now empty cup on your lap, and Silas looks at you. 

“Why not?” 

“There’s more west than Arkansas,” you reply. You almost feel guilty telling him this, like it might upset him. Silas had grown on you, in a way. It was like being followed around like a puppy begging for attention. It was kind of cute, and a little annoying, but you could deal with it. 

“I know,” he said. He looked out over the corral, and you felt his mood shift. “I suppose I shall make the most of the time I have left, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You know,” he began, shifting a little and rubbing his hands together. “I have been thinkin’ about buying a house.”

Your eyes widened. “A _house_?”

“Yes,” he reaffirmed, and a little smile stretched his lips. “It’s about time I leave the nest. I’m twenty one now, reckon I should start preparin’ for something.”

“Preparin’ for what?”

“A family,” he answered, leaning towards you with a quiet chuckle. A light returned to his eyes and it had your guts fluttering. “What’d you think I meant?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Coulda been anythin’. Where you lookin’ to live?”

“Well, there’s a little house for sale on the other side of town, in a neighborhood. I don’t think I’ll ever leave this place.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t feel a need to leave. I guess I been here so long that I wouldn’t feel right any where else.”

You lean over and playfully bump your shoulder to his. “Then maybe we’re not meant to be.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Silas grinned, “Fate may have other plans for us, Y/N. And besides, the course of love never did run smooth.”

“I’ll give you that,” you mumbled. 

“Let me take you out again.”

You sucked in your bottom lip, and gnaw at it as you think about Silas’s proposition. While you were starting to enjoy his company, you felt guilty. Guilty because you didn’t like him back in the same way he liked you, and in way, he filled your desire for attention that Arthur didn’t give you. So it wasn’t right what you were doing, not really. But you sighed, and accepted his offer anyway.

“Fantastic! Would you like to go now?” he asked, face lit up with wholesome excitement. It almost made you smile. Usually Copper was only this happy about seeing you, and that was only sometimes. He took the now empty jar from your hands. 

“Why not,” you said with a shrug. You dropped down off the fence, and Silas did the same. Out in the corral, Moonshine was rolling in the dust. He did _not_ like the blanket you’d tied around his torso. It was an attempt to get him used to the feeling of a “saddle”. Eventually, you got him to settle down enough to put him back into his stall. Silas met you met you outside, and you strolled into town side by side.

“Where would you like to go, my dear?” he asked. He was smooth and as sweet as ever. 

You looked around at all the shops and buildings before you. There were so many options to chose from, but you couldn’t quite decide. 

Until you saw Arthur walking arm-in-arm with Mary Gillis just down the street. 

Your stomach dropped and blood went cold. Your entirety wilted as you watched their backs, moving slow and easily. It was all you could see, and you briefly forgot all about Silas. Hot rage, and simmering grief blazed through you. You shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t feel this, or think this way. It was hard to keep the tears down as you watched Arthur’s shoulders shake with laughter. You knew his every move and motion from heart and it _hurt_. 

“Y/N?”

You blinked, and looked over at Silas. He seemed concerned, brows pinched together and worry written in his eyes. You felt guilt again pool into your chest. You were supposed to be having a fun date with Silas, but here you were, longing for another man. You sighed, then forced a little smile. 

“Are the saloons any good around here?”

* * *

To answer your own question, no, in fact, the saloons weren’t any good. Or least, the one Silas led you into wasn’t. It was small and crowded, and the pianist played too loud, and it smelt like urine and smoke, and the poker players were too noisy and drunk. Silas seemed a little nervous as he leaned against the bar beside you, pushed up against a big, burly man. He never seemed so small. 

“Are you sure you want to be here?” he asked timidly, looking from wall to wall. “You don’t seem like one for whiskey.”

“We’re trying new things, Silas,” you chirped. You weren’t one for whiskey. The memory of your first taste still burned your throat, but you knew it’d get you drunk. And being drunk seemed a lot better than being miserable. It might help you forget about Arthur, at least for now. 

Silas huddled closer to you. “I assure you it’s nothing nice.”

“It might be nicer with company,” you replied. He seemed to give in, because he sighed, and waved for the bartender. He ordered two drinks, and they were served right up. 

The brown liquor seemed daunting as it sat there on the table. You wanted it, but you knew it wasn’t for the right reason. Silas took his glass up shyly, and waited for you to do the same. 

“Thank you, Silas,” you said, giving him a grin. He weakly returned it, and nodded. 

“You’re welcome. Shall we do a toast?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “To... to love.”

“To love,” Silas repeated with finality. His chipper-ness returned briefly, and you two tapped glasses and promptly drank them down. 

It felt like hell the way down like you knew it would. The bitterness stuck to your tongue as you swallowed, but somehow it tasted better. When you looked at Silas, his face was all twisted up and he nearly choked. 

“You okay?” You asked, fighting through the pain that was alcohol. 

Silas nodded, and cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered, “I-I’m fine. It’s, it’s just been awhile, is all.”

You soon learned that Silas couldn’t hold his liquor for shit, and neither could you. As you drank and drank, things seemed better and you could chug down a bottle of beer like water. Silas was a giggling mess in no time, and you felt as free as could be. The world got fuzzier, and exploring the saloon soon became an adventure. 

Everything went by in a blur, and before you knew it, the sky was dark and you were trying to help Silas steal a sow before he fell down into the mud, passed out cold. 

* * *

“Y/N.”

You spun on your heel, and so did your surroundings. Everything seemed to fade and blend together as you teetered on your own two feet. There was a sensation of falling, then the surprise of being grounded. With wide eyes, you looked up to see Arthur. He was holding you tight by the shoulders.

“Arthur,” you tried to whisper, “what’re you doin’ here? I thought, I thought you were with Mary.”

“I _was_ ,” he said. The firmness in his voice didn’t even register to you, you were just happy to see him. “But, I saw your drunken ass walking through the streets like it’s some damn parade.”

“A parade? Wouldn’t that be the most loveliest thing- we could see elephants! Arthur, an elephant!” you gasped. Your body was buzzing with a tingling warmth, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. “Have you ev’r seen an elephant?”

“You’re thinkin’ of the circus,” he grumbled. “And honestly, that’s where you belong, actin’ like such a clown.”

“You think I’m funny?” you asked, stepping back from him. As much as you liked being so close to his face, you were starting to feel dizzy. 

“No,” he answered, taking you by the arm and leading you through the alley you’d wandered into. “Ain’t nothin’ funny about this. Who the hell let you drink so much?”

“Oh, um... um, Silas took me out! Yeah, we were walkin’, just walking, then we saw the saloon and I said oh! Let’s go there. Oh, god, we drank so much! He-” you bust into a fit of laughter, so hard you almost fell over. If it weren’t for Arthur, you would went rolling into the mud.

“He _what_?” Arthur growled. He kept pulling and tugging you up. 

“He passed out right in the pig pen!”

“For heavens sake- what were you thinkin’?!”

You furrowed your brows and thought hard at the question. It was difficult to think when everything seem so fuzzy. 

“Well, you ‘nd Mary were out and about, so I figured I’d have some fun, too.”

“Of course. Would have never guessed your idea of fun involved tryin’ booze.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of ‘ere before you get into any trouble,” Arthur sighed. He pulled one of your arms around his shoulders, and put a steady hand on your waist. He was doing most of the walking for you as you hung off him like a fifth wheel on a carriage. “God knows you cause enough.”

“What’chu mean?” you slurred. “I ain’t done nothin’! I was jus’ on a date.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn’t call whatever you had a date. You smell like an outhouse full of liquor.”

“Well you know what,” you said, leaning yourself completely against him. Arthur grunted at the sudden weight of you, but still carried on just as easily as he was. But when you buried your face into his chest, he almost choked on air.

“What in God’s name are you doin’?” he spat, grabbing you by the back of your collar. He peeled you away from himself. 

“You smell like _you_.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

You fell silent for a moment, just staring up at him. In that moment, you felt like you could say absolutely anything without consequence.

“It was gonna be,” you said, “but I kinda like it.”

“You’re freakin’ me out,” he mumbled. Arthur looked away from you, and his cheeks went hot. “Startin’ to wish you’d passed out in that pig pen, too.”

“...Really?”

Arthur stopped, shocked at the sudden smallness in your voice. He’d seen his fair share of drunks before, from a tipsy Hosea, to his tosspot father, to red-faced women in men’s laps at the saloon. He liked to think he could handle them all pretty well. But in all honesty, he didn’t know how to deal with you. In all his time of knowing you, he’d never seen you drunk. He’d never known you to even like alcohol past the first sip. He didn’t like seeing you like this, flopping about like a fish and about as stupid as rock. 

“No,” Arthur said. He hoisted you up when you began sliding down his side. He felt guilty. “I don’t. I’m glad I found you.”

“Arthur,” you breathed. He watched as you practically melted, your arms encircling his torso. “I’m so gla’ ya found me.”

He sighed, and practically dragged you halfway across the town until he reached where Black Beard was hitched. You shrieked and giggled when he hoisted you up onto the back of the horse, and he had catch you from falling off backwards. When he finally saddled up, it was not lost on him how you practically cuddled into him, your hands curling beneath his jacket. He could feel the heat of your cheek through his clothes. He found himself blushing at the feel of you so close to him, but he chalked it up to you being drunk. 

“Where’re we goin’?” you asked when Arthur pushed on passed town.

“Not back to camp, that’s for sure,” he answered. He tried to focus on the path ahead of him and not how your fingers wiggled through the gaps between the buttons of his shirt. 

“Why?”

“I’m not lettin’ Dutch see like this.”

“What’s wrong? I just... I just had a few glasses, nothin’ big. I’m just... a little tipsy!”

“You damn well know it wasn’t just a few glasses.”

“You’re right,” you giggled, “It was more like... like a whole ocean of liquor, Arthur! Oh man, I had to pee so bad.”

“You coulda left that last part out.” 

You laughed again, and Arthur couldn’t hold back a smile at the sound. He hadn’t heard it in so long- he missed it. 

“No, I think you needed to hear it.”

“What are you- **hey!** Quit that!” Arthur scolded, slapping your hands away from his stomach. You had somehow managed to find, and stick your finger right into his belly button through his shirt. 

You laughed even harder. “What? I ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

“You weren’t bein’ like this with Silas, were ya?” Arthur asked. He was blushing hard now, and he was glad you couldn’t see it. 

“No,” you answered, easily and honestly. “I really hardly touched th’ guy. No, I ain’t really touch ‘im.”

“Did he touch _you?_ ”

You snorted. “No, he wouldn’t touch me. Have ya even met ‘im? He couldn’t- he couldn’t harm a fly, let alone touch a woman. I’d-I’d punch him. Punch him right in the throat!”

“I’d blow his head clean off.”

“Arthur!” You shrieked, before falling into a heavy fit of wheezes and laughs. “You’d- you wouldn’t!”

“Don’t doubt me, Y/N. I mean it.”

“...Don’t worry, Arthur.”

He sighed. The guilty feeling returned to him again. He liked Mary, he liked her _a lot._ It was easy to talk to her, and she gave him butterflies and endless smiles. She was pretty, and sweet, and wasn’t without humor. But despite all that, despite how much he adored her, he liked how you touched him. He liked how there was no pressure to impress you, and the understanding between the two of you. When he was with Mary, he didn’t think much of you in a romantic way, but he was weary of this Silas, even though it seemed as if you had no explicit interest in him. And the whole reason the guilt was there was because he didn’t want you seeing Silas, and he was thinking of you as more than a friend. He cared for you a lot, but he didn’t want to mess anything up.

“Here,” he said, eager to distract himself. “Let’s camp down over here.”

As he steered Black Beard off the path, you were quiet. He almost hoped you had fallen asleep, just so it would be easier than being all flustered while you were conscious. He rode on through the low bushes until he reached a clearing, the grass tall and flattened by wind. A young maple tree made for a perfect place to tie up the horse. 

When he dismounted, he was surprised to see you fully awake. Your eyes seemed wide, and you looking every which way. You giggled when his hand brushed your knee.

“C’mere,” he sighed, and you practically jumped onto him. He let you to the ground, but you didn’t let go, not even as he dug through his saddle back for his camping kit. 

“Why don’t we just sleep out on the grass?” You asked. You were heavy on his arm. “Ya know how like... like deers do? Just lay there.”

“You can,” Arthur grumbled, “but I’m not.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re just _loads_ of it.”

Somehow, he managed to get a fire started and a tent set up. You were intent on throwing in handfuls of grass into the flames, claiming “it was keeping the underground warm”, whatever that meant. He plopped down beside you and tore open a can of peaches and gave it to you, in the hopes you might sober up some. 

“Oh, thanks, Arthur! I love peaches!”

He chuckled. He wished you were this enthusiastic about everything. 

“You know,” you began as you plucked peach slices from the can with your fingers, “woulda never thought t’ live this life.”

“Don’t think none of us have.”

“It ain’t so bad. I mean, I _do_ have my complaints.”

Arthur grinned, looking up at you from the fire. You hair was tangled and knotted down your back. Juice dripped down your chin, and he found himself watching your glistening lips as you spoke. 

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Well,” you said, “ _Miss Grimshaw._ She ain’t so terrible, but she’s terrible enough to not entirely enjoy, ya know?” You rose your voice some, straining it, in an attempt to personify the woman being discussed. “‘Sew this! Cook this! That seam is ‘bout as straight as the Mississippi! Your biscuits taste like shit! Blah, blah, blah!’”

Arthur laughed, and so did you. His smile lingered. 

“Is that all?”

“No,” you answered. “I stink like a farm half th’ time ‘cause ain’t no body got a bathtub. It’s either too hot, or too cold at night, and I’m always paranoid I’m gonna wake up to a snake in my goddamn boot. You ever had that? I’d hate to have that. Jus’ stick your foot in there and then- oh! That reminds me, sometimes Dutch talks too much and, and... and well, sometimes you really like to piss me off.”

Arthur stalled. “How?”

You sighed dramatically. “What d’ya mean ‘how’?”

“Is there a second meaning of _‘how’_ I don’t know ‘bout?”

“Yes, haven’t you heard? It’s... it’s ‘Arthur’s a dumbass’.” You laughed at your own joke, but Arthur didn’t seem pleased. 

“You gonna tell me why?” he asked, looking unimpressed.

“Sure,” you said. “But it comes at a price, my boy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“What is it?”

“More peaches.”

“You ate it all already?”

“Yes I did, now give me more!”

 _“Fine.”_

Arthur dug into his bag and presented to you another can. You gestured at him to open it, and with a sigh, he did. You seemed content with yourself as shoveled them into your mouth. 

“Now you have to tell me.”

“Fine,” you whined. “Wait, what am I telling you?”

“Wh- oh my god. Why I’m apparently a dumbass!”

“Oh, that’s right. Well... it’s ‘cause you make me laugh. ‘Nd your smile is so pretty, and you’re real tough ‘Nd big but your heart’s even bigger. I can do whatever I wan’ wit’ ya and... and you’re fun. You’re so much fun. Oh, you’re the greatest friend I could ever ask for, Arthur. You’re handsome, ‘nd you draw so well, like goddamn! But most o’ all... you’re... you’re there for me. Mos’ days.”

Arthur frowned. He was left in utter confusion as you resumed your feast of peaches, carrying on like you had actually answered his question. As far as he knew, those were compliments, the opposite of what qualified someone as a dumbass. His cheeks bloomed red and he huffed in annoyance. 

“How the hell does that make me a dumbass?” he grumbled. 

“Huh, I wonder,” you slurred. 

“I think I hate you when you’re drunk,” Arthur snapped. He took up his knife and began to carve at a little twig he’d found for kindling. Really, he didn’t hate you. He just didn’t know what to make of this.

“Good,” you said. “...but why?”

“‘Cause... ‘cause you’re weird,” Arthur answered. His voice was irritated and short. “And you don’t make any sense.”

“That’s just a product of your dumbass-ery,” you said. You leaned back by the fire, hand fully in the can. 

“Would you quit with that?! You’re the one being a dumbass.”

You laughed. You laughed, and _laughed_ , until your arm gave out and your torso slammed onto the ground. Even then, you only yelped and kept on giggling. Arthur wasn’t even sure what could be so funny. At this point, he was just getting frustrated. He stabbed the knife into the ground and shifted closer to you. 

When you stopped laughing, Arthur looked over you. It seemed as if you were looking right through him, and instead up into the sky. Your pupils were blown.

Arthur had never noticed how pretty you were until now. It suddenly had him blushing and his palms damp. Your long, dark hair was a halo of tangles, all splayed out in the grass. The line of your nose seemed perfect, and each little eyelash seemed to stand out. Your lips were parted, and still glimmering with peach juice. Every little blemish, knick, freckle, and spot on your face just made you that much prettier. That much more real. His breath was gone, mouth agape, and he felt hypnotized. Why hadn’t he seen you like this before?

“Sometimes,” you whispered, breaking him from his trance. “I still cry ‘cause I miss my dad.”

Arthur blinked at you. He found himself having nothing to say.

“Tha’ was such a long time ago, Arthur. All of it. It’s like... they’re just little ghosts. In my head. Sometimes they seem so real and sometimes... I barely notice they’re gone.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Everett... m’ second youngest brother. He died ‘fore ev’ryone else.”

“The one who got shot?”

“No. I don’t talk ‘bout it, but, he drowned when he was young.”

“I never knew.”

“‘Cause I didn’t tell.”

“Why?”

If it weren’t for your slurring speech, in this moment, Arthur wouldn’t have guessed you were drunk. It’s like the stars you were staring at had sobered you with memories. 

“‘Cause I like water,” you admitted. “And everyone was s’ ‘fraid of it after he drown’d. But I like water. I love it.”

“Why?” Arthur asked again. He found himself genuinely curious. You sat up, meeting his eyes straight on. 

“‘Cause as much as it kills ya, ya need it. Ya have to drink it to live but it don’t need you. No, it don’t. And it’ll kill you just as quick as it’ll save you. And it’s beautiful, Arthur. You ever see the ocean?”

“No.”

“I haven’t either. But I seen lakes, big ‘nough to think it’s an ocean. I wanna see the ocean one day.”

Arthur’s voice came out soft. “Maybe one day, we will.”

Your face phased from sober, to smiling. “ _We_ will,” you giggled. 

“Sure,” Arthur breathed. “Once we reach the west coast, we’ll see the ocean. All of us.”

“Oh, god,” you whispered, excitement heavy in your breath. “It’ll be beautiful!”

Arthur smiled a little. He felt like he hadn’t talked to you, _really_ talked, in a long time. It felt good to hear your voice like this, no pain, no apologizes. Just drunk and dreamy. 

“You have somethin’ in your hair,” you mumbled. You reached out and clumsily brushed a blade of grass away from his sideburn, and when your fingers dragged over his cheek, he felt his stomach drop. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. You nodded with a wide smile.

You carried on like that for awhile. You’d talk about things, some that Arthur knew, others he’d never heard of before. About three times, you recounted your drunken escapade aloud, and every time it got funnier. You managed to get Arthur to sing, and tried to get him to dance but he wouldn’t go that far. One conversation led to the next, and soon enough it felt like hours had passed by. Arthur learned that he didn’t hate you when you were drunk. It felt good to laugh with you, and see that glow about you. He was having _fun_. 

“Arthur,” you said, after settling down from a rather intense session of giggling, “w-where do ya see yerself in... in the future?” The both of you were laying down on the grass now, the fire burning low. 

“In the future? Hm.” Arthur rubbed at the stubble on his chin with his thumb. “I guess... I guess I see myself still with Dutch, Hosea, and Susan. And you. We’ll have made it west, we’ll live all close together. I’ll have a house, hopefully. Maybe another dog, a horse of my own. A woman, too. Maybe Mary.”

“Mary,” you whispered. “D’ya love her?”

“I... I suppose I do. I know I like her, enough to think I might love her.”

“Arthur,” you said, all breath and urgency. You sat up and leaned over him, peering into his crystal clear blue eyes. “I hate Mary Gillis.”

“I know,” Arthur replied. He hated the words that fell from you lips, but found himself accepting your touch when your hands ran over his chest. It felt natural, and normal. His hands found your wrists, and he gently held them there. He noticed how soft the tender skin felt there, and his heart quickened. 

“I have a secret,” you mumbled quietly, leaning in towards his face. Your hair fell from where it was tucked behind your hair, and it softly brushed against his temple. Your leg lifted over his hips, and soon enough you were straddling him. Arthur was certain you could feel his chest _vibrating_. 

“What is it?” he whispered, like you had pushed all the air of him. You were so close. 

“I dunno if I c’n tell you.”

“Y/N,” he almost pleaded, “you can tell me anythin’.” He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be feeling like this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His whole body felt hot, in a way he’d never really felt before. He wanted to touch you, feel more of you. His fingers slowly crept up your arm. 

A soft smile graced your face, and it quickly evolved into something goofy. He had to remind himself you were drunk, and likely saying and doing all this because you weren’t thinking clearly. It broke his heart in a way that he didn’t like, or understand. Knots formed in his stomach. 

“It’ll change everythin’,” you sang. A giggle followed, and it was as heavenly as it was anxious. The sound pulled at Arthur’s chest, and he sucked in a breath. He buzzed with anticipation. 

“Thing’s been changed,” he said. He reached up to put your hair back in place. You leaned into his touch.

“Not this’n. I carried this since the beginin’, Arthur. You ain’t... you have no idea.”

“Just tell me,” he said, desperate. “C’mon.”

The way you looked at him had him melting. The way the stars shone so brightly over your head made the twinkle in your eyes stand out that much more. How perfect you seemed in that moment. You looked like a little wild thing, a rogue nymph of the woods with the prettiest face. He recalled every moment with you- reading in the shade together, wading in the creek, napping side by side when the days were too hot or too boring. He remembered how you would hold his hand, call him good. He remembered how angry you could get, how your tongue could quickly become sharp, and how absolutely infuriating you could be. And it was a thrill, all of you was. Mary was gone from his mind as he took you in, your face all embers and shadows as the fire cast its light upon you. His thumb met your cheek, and it scared him how badly he wanted to kiss you.

“I shouldn’t,” you slurred. “You’re-”

“I’m what?” he interrupted.

“A dumbass,” you spoke, voice soft and hushed. 

Arthur let out a brief wheeze, his lip quirking up. “So are you.”

You inched closer and closer, until he could feel your breath on his face. It smelt like peaches and booze, but he didn’t care. He _relished_ The heat of it. His hand against your cheek fell to your neck, and your pulse drummed against his calloused fingers. 

“I am,” you huffed, “I really am.”

You were mere centimeters from his lips now. Arthur silently begged for you to close the gap, to just do it already. Or to tell him your secret. His hands burned where he touched you. Flames grew hot in the barrel of his chest and he hungered for more fuel, and you were his kindling. It felt terrible and good to have you like this. 

Then, you rolled off of him and threw up in the grass.


	26. The Course Of Love Never Did Run Smooth: IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up with a hangover is never a good start to your day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This chapter is way overdue. I’ve been feeling a bit down recently and bombarded with work, so I’ve took the week to visit my family. I hope you are all doing well, and thanks for sticking with me. Please enjoy the chapter! Ily!

_*May 23, 1882*_

“Goddamn! What the fuck happened?!” 

Arthur rolled over with a grunt. The sudden light of day burned his eyes as you crawled out of the tent, and he struggled to sit up. His brain felt all foggy and sleep was still set in his face. 

“You ‘bout puked all over my face, that’s what,” Arthur grumbled. He picked up his hat where it was lying beside him, and shoved it onto his head. He followed you out. 

You were lying face down in the grass. It felt cool and relieving against the furnace that was your body, and the dew completely soaked through your shirt but you could have cared less. You groaned loudly. 

“I feel like shit!” 

Arthur waved away a fly, a deep scowl on his face. “Quit yellin’,” he rumbled. “That ain’t gonna help either of us.” 

“Sorry,” you replied, voice muffled. “I think my ears are still full of booze.” 

Arthur kicked out what was left of the fire, then began packing up his bag. Black Beard was standing quietly by the little maple tree, head low, eyes droopy. The sun was almost at its peak, the sky still pale with morning. It was just about noon. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he quipped. 

“The hell you so moody for?” you asked. The light of day stung your eyes, and your head throbbed. It felt like you had ate sand for supper, your mouth was so dry. Every muscle in your body ached. “You’re not the one dyin’.” 

“I had to deal with you all night,” he answered. 

You shot up suddenly. Pain shot through your head like a line of bullets, and the tilting of the world made you feel sick, but you still got up to your feet. You squinted as you tried to focus on Arthur. Panic bumbled within you. 

“I didn’t do anythin’ stupid, did I?” You asked, sounding a little too desperate. Your hands were sweating. 

“How much do you remember?” he asked back. He glanced at over his shoulder as he filled up his saddle bag, and the flash of his sapphire blue eyes made your stomach clench. 

“I... I don’t know, it’s all kind of hazy,” you replied. The throb between your eyes only got stronger as you tried to recall all the events of last night. You brought your hand up to try and sooth it with a touch. “I remember... most of what happened at the saloon, but everything after Silas passed out is just, one big blur.” 

You noticed how his shoulders rose and stiffened. Anxiety pulsed through you as the fear of what happened gripped your heart with cold claws. You hoped to God you didn’t tell him anything you weren’t ready for him to know. You hoped you didn’t try anything stupid. You began to feel lightheaded. 

“You didn’t miss out on too much, then,” Arthur grumbled as he turned around. His face was almost somber. “You’re just as stupid when you’re sober.” 

“That ain’t very nice,” you said, stumbling towards him. 

“I ain’t feeling very nice.” 

You stood there, rubbing your face. While you didn’t entirely trust what Arthur told you, it would suffice for now. If you had decided to drunkly confess to him, you’d know, right? That was the only reasoning stopping you from dropping dead out of embarrassment. 

“Shit,” you sighed, “I have to go back into town.” 

“Did you forget your whiskey?” 

You waved at him scoldingly for his sarcastic tone as you trudged over towards Black Beard. Arthur was watching you, his eyes following your every movement. There was something there, something new lingered behind his stare that you didn’t quite know if you liked. 

“Shut up, no. I-I have to make sure Silas is okay.” 

“Walk yourself there, then.” 

_“Arthur,”_ you whined. “Don’t- come on. I know you’re mean, but you ain’t _that_ mean. I feel awful, just- please.” 

“Quit your whinin’,” Arthur groaned. “I’ll take you there.” 

* * *

Three knocks on the door seemed as loud as gunshots. You pulled away with a slight grimace and a sigh. 

You could feel the grit gathered on your teeth, and the grime stuck beneath your clothes. Large knots and tangles made your hair look like something unholy, and you felt like it, too. It was embarrassing to think Silas was going to see you like this, but there was always the chance he might not be any different. 

As you waited for someone to answer the door, you looked over at Arthur. He was leaning against a beam that held up the awning above the porch, sucking on a cigarette. He had unexpectedly insisted that he come along with you to pay Silas a visit. His behavior had been off since the moment God had cursed you with the daylight, and it was starting to irk you more than worry you. 

His clothes were wrinkled, and disheveled. There was a stubborn blond cowlick that stuck up on the back of his head from how he slept on it, and a tired look about his eyes. Maybe he was embarrassed of his looks same as you were, too afraid to look so sloppy in front of Mary. The thought made your heart clench in a torn way. You didn’t know if you should be happy Arthur was comfortable enough to look like shit around you, or offended that he didn’t feel the need to clean up for you. His eyes caught yours, and he gave you a little shrug and flicked his cigarette to the ground. 

The creak of rusted hinges caught your attention. When you turned back towards the door, a woman stood there, peeking out wearily at you and Arthur. She was small and thin, with a heavy bun of dark hair weighing down on the back of her head. Her nose was straight and sharp, eyes almost black beneath her scant eyelashes. A crease formed between her brows as she dried her hands off on a white towel. 

“Is... is everything alright?” she asked timidly. She looked you from head to toe. 

“Uh, yes,” you replied. You gave her a short smile. “I was... Silas took me out last night, and we... we got a little carried away. I was... wondering if he’s alright?” 

She visibly eased some, and took a step back. “Oh, yes, he came home earlier this morning. I don’t condone such excessive drinking, but he looked to have had fun. He was _covered_ in dirt. Here, come on in. I think he’s still awake.” 

You stepped forward before freezing, and jabbing a thumb over your shoulder towards Arthur. “Can my cousin come in, too?” 

“Sure. As long as you keep your manners about ya.” 

You waved Arthur over, and he pushed off the support beam then followed you inside. You flattened out your muddied white blouse, raked at your hair with your finger tips, and wiped at your face. You knew you looked bad, but you wanted to at least try to look okay. Mrs. Kidd looked at you pitifully, and you tried to muster up a smile for her. Arthur stood close behind you, and you could feel him putting on his tough guy act. 

“He’s in his room right now, it’s down the hall, last door on the right,” Mrs. Kidd said. She gestured in the direction she was speaking of, and you nodded in thanks. 

When you made it down the hall, his door was closed. You were suddenly nervous to open the door, like Silas might not like what he sees, or he might be upset with you for leaving him, or even suggesting the idea of getting drunk. You chewed at your lip nervously, your hand meeting the ends of your hair. 

“You gonna open it or what?” Arthur grumbled. Your gaze shot to him. He was standing there behind you, all slouched over. His lips were pressed thin, and eyes dark beneath the low brim of his black hat. Just looking at him stressed you out. He was going to be difficult. 

“You didn’t have to come, ya know,” you whispered harshly. Your put your hand over the doorknob. 

“You didn’t have to get this son of a bitch drunk.” 

“Quit it with this sour act you got on.” 

“Me? _Sour?_ ” 

“Good Lord. You’re makin’ my headache worse.” 

“Oh, my bad.” 

You turned around to face him completely. Your hand slipped from the brass knob, and your back was almost flat against the door. Arthur took a small step closer to you, and your heart skipped a beat when his hand reached for the doorframe, right beside your head. 

“Don’t make a fool of yourself in there, Morgan,” you said, low and dark. You tried to pull yourself together, tried to look as tough and as serious as you could. It was hard when your stomach was fluttering, when you could feel a brush creep it’s way up your neck, and when you’re hungover made everything looks so out of focus. But, Arthur’s pretty blue eyes were clear, the clearest thing ever to be seen as he leaned in. 

“I’d have to try real hard to do that, considerin’ the standards you’ve set,” he gritted out. 

“Wouldn’t want to make my image worse, would you?” you taunted. Your mouth went dry when he leaned in even closer. His hand slipped down the door frame, and you were hyper aware of each movement he made. Your eyes scanned every part of his face, until they reached his lips. Anxiety was quickly replaced with adrenaline, and your mind began to race with the idea of kissing him. Of him holding you there, mouth on yours as he pressed you into the door. Everything began to blur until your eyes unconsciously sank shut. You braced yourself for the sensation of warm breath and lips on your face, but it never came. 

You opened your eyes when you heard the click of a door opening. 

It slowly creaked open, and your stomach sank at the realization that Arthur wasn’t going to kiss you. He was just being an asshole, and trying to get under your skin. He was looking you right in the face, jaw set and shoulders square. Embarrassed, you stepped back and turned around. 

Silas’s room was small. All four walls were white and plain, the planks of his floor dusty. There wasn’t much in it except a bed, a chest, dresser, and a nightstand. You quickly took everything in before turning your attention to the man who was lying beneath the covers in his bed, hands crossed over his stomach. He perked up upon seeing you, quickly moving to set up. 

“Y-Y/N!” he stuttered out. He flustered, and mussed his black hair. “I didn’t- I didn’t expect to see you.” 

“I figured I’d check up on you after last night,” you said, offering him a shy smile. You slowly stepped further into the room, towards the bed. 

“Oh, _yes,_ I was... that was a wild time,” Silas replied. He chuckled nervously, the laugh coming out in small puffs of anxious breath. “I don’t really remember a lot of it, I-I...” 

“It’s alright.” You sat on the edge of his bed, intertwining your fingers in your lap. “To be honest with you, neither do I.” 

“I hope we didn’t-” 

“We didn’t,” you interrupted quickly. “I remember that much.” 

“Oh, good,” Silas sighed. He visibly relaxed, shoulders going slack and the crease between his brows disappearing. But it very soon returned again, his eyes going wide. “N-Not that I’d protest to the idea, I-I don’t think you’re- I wouldn’t be ashamed, I just, well, we’re not even- it’s so _soon_ , we- I-” 

_“Silas,”_ you laughed, reaching over to grab one of his hands. “It’s alright. It’s no issue nor fuss, settle down.” 

He seemed a little shocked you actually touched him, and his nervous stare was soon conquered with a little smile. His fingers curled around your palm, and he wheezed out a soft laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m... I’m just feeling sick, from all the drinking we did.” 

“Me too. I don’t think I’ll be drinkin’ again any time soon.” 

“Me either.” 

“It’s good to see your still alive,” you said. 

Silas’s smile turned a little bashful as he looked away. “Yes, it was hard to explain to Mr. Reeds why I had spent the night with his pigs this morning.” 

You laughed genuinely, despite how much it hurt. “I bet!” 

“How’d you make it back home?” 

“I found her.” 

“Oh.” Silas’s face dropped when Arthur stepped into the room, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed, and he wore that signature look of intimidation on his face. It almost made you cringe. “I see you brought your cousin along.” 

“Yes,” you groaned, and gave Arthur a pleading look. “He, _unfortunately,_ is my ride to just about everywhere. Even to your bedroom, apparently.” 

“Well, uh, it’s nice to see you again, uh... Arthur,” Silas said. His form went rigid beneath Arthur’s stare. “It was very kind of you to bring her over.” 

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t let yourself get so goddamn drunk.” 

“Don’t mind him,” you said quickly to Silas, “he’s always like this.” 

“I’m only like this when dealin’ with idiots.” 

“Arthur.” 

“What? It’s the truth. You really gonna reprimand me for bein’ honest?” 

“You’re being an _asshole._ ” 

“It’s easy to mistake the two.” 

“I-It’s okay,” Silas interrupted. He sat up a little more. “It was foolish of me to drink so much. I apologize for letting it get so out of hand.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you sighed. “And don’t listen to him.” 

“I can hear you.” 

“He’s... he’s a bitter bastard, always has been.” 

_“Pardon?”_

“Don’t act so offended, you know you are.” 

“O-Oh, please don’t fight,” Silas pleaded. He squeezed your hand tight, and when you looked at him, he was begging you with his eyes. “At least, not in here.” 

“I’m sorry, Silas,” you mumbled. 

“How about we let him rest now? The bastard’s probably wore himself spendin’ the night with the sows,” Arthur drawled. His lip curled in a devious grin. “Sometimes a man gets a little desperate after a drink.” 

_“Arthur!”_ you hissed. 

Silas blushed. “It’s fine. I-I suppose I should sleep this headache off. I’ll see you again soon, Y/N.” 

You looked at the man, defeated. He was smiling wearily at you, and it broke your heart a little. It was obvious Arthur’s attitude was wearing on him. He could take all your shit, but not Arthur’s. You couldn’t blame him- he was a pain in the ass sometimes. With a sigh, you patted Silas’s hand. 

“Get well soon, Silas,” you said quietly. “I wish I could have stayed longer.” 

He smiled at you, his charming showing through, though weak. 

“So do I, darling. But I imagine I’ll recover quickly after seeing you. Your face could cure a man on his deathbed.” 

You stood, feeling suddenly too shy to look at him. Your cheeks warmed as his compliment, and he only laughed sweetly as you turned around and waved him goodbye. You stepped passed Arthur, who was looking at you like a ghost, and shut the door. 

“Is that sunburn or do you just have the habit of lookin’ like a lobster?” 

“Shut up, Arthur,” you grumbled as you paced down the hall. His footsteps were heavy as he quickly followed behind you. 

“No, I’m curious,” he pressed on. His antagonizing voice was starting to piss you off. 

“I said, shut u-” 

“Did everything go okay?” 

The sudden interruption of Mrs. Kidd’s sweet, singsong voice made both you and Arthur halt. You stare at her with wide startled eyes, and she only peered back at you with a warm expression. Looking at her, you could see why Silas was so kind and endearing. He looked like his mom, but in a handsome way, and had the same genial air about them. You blinked in an attempt to regain your composure. 

“Yes ma’am, all is well,” you answered, nodding your head politely. “Thank you for letting us in.” 

Mrs. Kidd smiled, and she softly swayed in place like a shy little school girl, her faded pink linen skirt flowing around her legs. In that moment you wouldn’t have guessed she was someone’s mom, from the young look in her eye. 

“Of course,” she said, “Silas talks ‘bout you all the time. Says he’s never met such a rough and tumble woman like you. I seen you out with that horse, and I have to say, you’re doin’ some brave things.” 

“O-Oh, well, thank you, ma’am,” you mumbled. You felt nervous all over again, and your palms began to sweat as you pressed them together. 

“Stay over for dinner some time, your family too,” she looked up at Arthur, “we’d love to get to know y’all some more. Especially if you’re gonna be my new daughter-in-law.” 

Arthur put a heavy hand on your shoulder as you blanked, too flustered and embarrassed to find any words to say. The familiar rumble of Arthur’s voice came from behind you. 

“That’s a very kind offer, Mrs., uh, Kidd, we’ll consider it. But right now, we gotta get ourselves back home. Uncle will be very upset if we missed lunch,” Arthur said. There was a hint of a smile in his words, a faux sweetness that he put on just for show. Arthur was an asshole, but he always had a tender respect for other women. 

“Oh, right,” she said, and lurched for the door. She opened it wide, dismissing you with gentle eyes. “I wouldn’t want to get you two in trouble, now. Run along, we’ll meet again soon.” 

As Arthur steered you out towards the door, he tipped his hat, and you only waved. His hand didn’t leave your shoulder until you met Black Beard, who was hitched at a post near the stables. You felt foggy from your hangover, and overwhelmed by everything that just transpired in the Kidd’s household. 

“Daughter-in-law, huh?” Arthur grunted out as he began tightening the saddle’s latigo. 

“No,” you sighed, rubbing at your temple, “it ain’t like that. I don’t know what kinda ideas he’s put in their heads, but we ain’t gettin’ married.” 

“I dunno, seein’ the way you act around him. Like a blushin’ little girl. I think you like him,” Arthur teased. His eyes were almost cold on yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a little offended. He was just making his mission to make your day terrible. 

“What is with you?” you growled, “And what should it matter if I like him or not? My love life does not concern you.” 

He scoffed. “It does _too_ concern me!” 

Your blood boiled. You squeezed your hands into tight fists and it took _everything_ you had not to sock that bastard right in the jaw. 

“What the **hell** is wrong with you?!” you snapped, voice coming out hard and loud. Arthur didn’t even flinch. “You can run around with Mary all you want, no matter what I think, or what anyone else thinks, but I can’t go and see him without you watchin’ over me like a goddamn hawk. Then you got the nerve to insult him, embarrass me, then tell me you got a say in who I can and cannot talk with?” 

“I’m only lookin’ out for you-” 

You stopped him with a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, a little _too_ closely!” 

Arthur grabbed your wrist as you went to turn away, and you spun around like a rattlesnake had just bite you. You ripped your hand away from his, glaring at him hard. He sighed, stepping forward, only for to step back. 

“Listen,” he pleaded, “C’mon, just listen. You’ve given me hell for seein’ Mary, and I’m... I’m-... _worried_ that he might just break your heart, same as you were worried for me.” 

“It’s different,” you hissed out in a weak whisper. 

“How is it different?” 

“‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to control you, Arthur! And I— it’s just different.” 

He eased up some when you looked down, your matted hair falling loose from where it was tucked behind your ear. He heard you sniffle back tears, and a little pang of guilt stung him. Arthur sighed, then awkwardly pushed your long dark hair over your shoulder. You stiffened and didn’t meet his eyes. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he said, voice reluctantly soft, “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to get you all worked up, or offend nothin’ or no one, I- dammit. Last night, you told me that you hated Mary. And well, I guess... I guess I hate Silas.” 

“You ain’t got no reason to,” you bit. 

“Neither do you,” Arthur replied. “But That ain’t stoppin’ you. Or me.” 

You wiped at your face with your sleeve. You still were angry, still overly emotional, tired, and exhausted from last night, but Arthur’s gentle tone and indirect apology lessened your hurt, as much as it shouldn’t have. You just loved him too much, liked him too much to let his bitterness stick. He could melt you with his voice alone, and when he spoke so gently to you- it was hard not to warm back up to him. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled, “just... take me over to the hotel. I need a bath.” 

* * *

Hosea was pissed but Dutch laughed when you and Arthur rode back into camp and told them what happened. Neither you or Arthur expected Dutch to find it so humorous, but he said that “kids are going to be kids”, and that getting too drunk for your own good was going to happen anyway. He said he was sad he missed it, but glad you were safe. He ruffled your clean, brushed hair and went back to his reading. 

Hosea was disappointed. You absolutely _hated_ making Hosea upset, because he always found a way to make you feel guilty without always meaning to. He looked at you with stern eyes and crossed arms, and gave you a full lecture on being “more careful”, and to “let us know when you’re gonna be doing something so foolish”. You couldn’t process half of his lesson, your mind was lagging so far behind and you just wanted to sleep, but you sure as hell could understand that you never wanted to piss Hosea off again. He ended it with a sigh and a pat on the back, and then Miss Grimshaw made her move. 

She forced you to change your clothes and then nagged on and on about “rebelliousness”, “manners”, and the “way women should be”. Apparently your promiscuous behavior was too radical for running with outlaws, and that you were no better than a saloon whore. At that point, you were far too irritated and tired to care what she said, and she talked far too much, so when you began dozing off, she gave up and stormed off somewhere. You couldn’t find it in you too care all that much. 

It was too stuffy in your tent to sleep, so you wandered around for somewhere in rest in the shade until you found Arthur. 

The ride back with him after your bath had been a little awkward. While you most certainly did feel better after bathing and having a moment to yourself, you were still a little upset with Arthur, and he seemed too far gone in thought to talk to. So you rode back in silence, the wind drying your hair and the sun warming your skin. 

You were still afraid of what you might have said and done with Arthur the night before. Still afraid, but not so much. You didn’t quite know how you were while drunk, considering it was your first time going overboard with the bottle and that half of it was a dream. You remember looking at the stars, and thinking of your family, and laughing a lot and Arthur’s voice as he sang some old shanty. But beyond that point, you don’t recall. You hoped and prayed that whatever happened afterwards wasn’t the cause of Arthur’s terrible moodiness. You hoped it was just a rough night’s sleep, or Silas. Whatever it was, you were too shy to ask about. But you knew you didn’t want this tension to fester between the two of you, so you sat down beside him in the grass beneath a tree. 

“That was humiliating,” you said quietly, hoping to start conversation. You plucked a thick green blade of grass and twirled it nervously around your fingers as you waited for Arthur to respond. 

He was sketching in his journal, long charcoal pencil powdering his fingertips black. The outline of a horse with its head arched towards the ground was beginning to appear, taking form and life on the page with simple, short strokes. Your gaze traveled from his book, to the strength in his hands, to his arms, his broad shoulders, neck, his jaw, his face. Arthur’s dark, thick brows were drawn tight as he focused on his work, lids low on his eyes. His lashes were long and pretty, like the fragile wings of a black swallowtail butterfly. His cheeks were rosy from the soft touches of weather and sun, his chin dotted with the small beginnings of stubble. His tongue peaked out from between his pink lips, just barely grazing the line where color differed. Arthur’s hair fell over his forehead, and you noticed how long it was getting, how it nearly caught in his eyes, and how it began to curl over his ears. The blond locks on the nape of his neck nearly reached the collar of his white Union suit. You longed to touch it, to feel how thick it would be, and you _could_ , he was right there, so close, you could _touch him-_ but something kept your hands in your lap, twiddling grass. 

Arthur Morgan was unfairly handsome. 

“Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson,” he said. His voice was almost distant, just a low roll. 

“I think I have,” you breathed. “At least for now.” 

The corner of his lip briefly turned upwards, but it wasn’t lost on you. You smiled faintly. 

“That won’t be your last time, trust me.” 

“I have a feeling you’re right,” you chuckled, soft and airy. You felt no animosity from him, and it relaxed you. 

A light breeze rolled through, carrying the scent of summer. May was almost over, the beginning of a new season just around the bend. As much as you wished for a change of pace, yearned for something different, longed for things to go your way, a little voice deep inside told you to wait. That a little patience was all you needed, and soon all things would be content. That first you’d need to know and do more. You believed it. You had a feeling it was right. 

As Arthur doodled away in his journal, your eyes began to sink shut. Your body finally gave into exhaustion, and before you could try to jump awake, your mind drifted away. Your head rolled over onto Arthur’s shoulder, and he let you stay there. 

He, same as you, knew that there was more to learn. More to learn about himself, about you. More to learn even about Mary, Silas, Dutch, and everyone else around him. That he needed to learn more about caring. Life was on the brink of change, something gathering like a storm on the horizon, to be seen but not yet experienced. 

He flipped the page, and began to sketch your face as he saw it by firelight, eyes wide and burning among the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit this like 100 times after posting it lol


	27. Needle’s Eye: III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first assigned mission does not goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I’ve officially been working on this fic for two months lol. This chapter is a little long, but I hope y’all enjoy!!! I love you all so much, thank you for reading!!

_*June 16, 1882*_

The heel of your shoes tapped against the polished wooden floors, echoing off the walls as if you were walking down the depths of a great, dark cave. It could have been, if one closed their eyes and imagined hard and long enough. Douglas Tanner’s personal cavern. It would be the perfect place for such a slimy beast as himself. An unnerved chill trailed down your spine as you strolled through the halls of his massive plantation house. 

You had been in and out of your fancy get-up so many times that you’d gotten used to the squeeze of a corset and the weight of so many skirts, but no matter how many times you stepped over the threshold of Douglas’s door, you couldn’t adjust. Every painting on the wall, untouched piece of furniture, decorative plate, and rich red rug made each room feel cold and empty, despite how much of it there was. All you could see was a prideful display of wealth. It made your stomach churn. 

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. The yellow wooden floorboards kept on going and going, a straight line that didn’t stop until it met a wall, that so lovingly held up a giant portrait of a stranger who looked something like George Washington. Dark doors lined up on each side of you, hiding things and secrets you were glad you didn’t know. 

From behind one, a maid left, shyly looking down to the ground as she passed you by. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, simple braid that curled around the crown of her head. Her apron was starch white, unlike her skin. You found yourself aching to see her eyes, to speak to her, ask her about the wicked things her boss did, but she left before you could open your mouth. So, you waited until the sound of her footsteps disappeared, and slipped away into the room she had just exited. 

It was mostly dim, the single window in the wall draped over with a thick, burgundy velvet curtain. What little light that escaped was reflected red, and cast a villainous scarlet shadow throughout the room. A large mahogany desk was to your left, littered with letters and papers of every sort. To your right sat a few fine arm chairs and a luxurious chaise. A low ottoman was placed in the middle of the ring of seats, and it made for an expensive looking set up. Several portraits and landscape paintings adorned the walls and you took a moment to gawk at them all after you silently closed the door. 

You had never seen such lavishness. 

After your moment to stare, you stepped further into the stuffy room. You were pulled towards the desk, fingers itching to collect. Paperweights ranging from cast iron collectibles, pocket watches, and a full ashtray settled amongst the mess of parchment and ink. You were almost overwhelmed by how much there was to look through, but you decided to raid the drawers before reading anything he’d unwisely left out. It occurred to you that he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding out his business; most of his servants probably couldn’t read. 

You found a twenty dollar bill and a few quarters in the top drawer. They were promptly stuffed into the bosom of your dress. 

There wasn’t anymore cash that you could find, but you did snag some silver rings and a watch. The man did not need as many as he had. It took one clock to tell the time. 

The paper was smooth against your fingers. The back of your skull sizzled with the sensation of paranoia and fear, ears straining to hear passed the shuffling of opened envelopes. You could feel the blood begin to pump and sweat begin to form under your corset. You tried to breath and remember what you were here to do. 

And that was to find out whatever you could about where Douglas Tanner was keeping the money. 

You entered his wretched house knowing that. Days prior, Dutch and Hosea has sat everyone down and worked through the plan. Half of it was a guessing game, a strategy built on inferences and Douglas’s drunken slip ups. Action needed to be taken soon, funds were running low and the clock was ticking. Something needed to happen and fast. No longer could your makeshift family pretend to kiss up to this rotten, selfish man as if he were a king. There was not much more time for that. 

You’d perfected the lost little girl act over the years. It was much easier to believe a young girl than some burly, brute, like Arthur. The idea of sneaking through the house scared you. You hadn’t done much more than swipe from pockets or off shelves when the clerk was distracted. Going from a petty thief to this was daunting. If you were caught snooping, it could be over for everyone. It could end in cold blood or a life behind bars. Either way, the possible results added onto the fear you felt. 

Timidly, you pulled out a sheet of paper hidden beneath all the others. 

With the letter in your hands, you gave the door a nervous glance. You had latched it shut so you’d hear the knob turn if someone were to enter. You swallowed a dry mouthful of air, your guts twisting and fluttering with anxiety. An excuse for being here flickered across your mind. You had to trust yourself with this, you thought. There was no room for mistakes. 

You looked down to the paper, sucking in a breath. 

_”Dear Douglas,_

 __

I was delighted to see your letter in my mail this morning. I was beginning to worry that something went wrong when I failed to hear anything from, or about you. I had not seen your name in the papers since early May. It is enthralling to receive news of such success after all the publicity you have gotten over the passed few months. There is no doubt within me now. I trust that your plans will be fruitful.

 __

My wife and I have managed to talk the owner of the old church here in the rising city of St. Denis to hold out on the sale or lease of the building for you. He had informed me that he is willing to sell it for $300, or no less. I know that is costly, but the people are desperate for a savior here and I trust that your charm and passion will lure them in quickly. Soon, they’ll overturn their pockets so that yours may be filled. Some are Negros, or from the easterly hemisphere, but they manage to find work. I know you and I share the same disdain for such filth, but what must be done must be done.

 __

I will have rooms ready for Sylvan and his associates when they arrive. They will not go unrewarded for their efforts. I still trust that you will pay me that 10 percent you promised me.

 __

I know this letter is brief, but that is all the information I have to give thus far. I will write you once more when the men have arrived for preaching work. I am certain they will have gathered up a crowd here waiting for you. You know where to find me and my family, and shall you ever need anything, please let us know. I wish you the best, and may God bless you.

 __

Your trusted friend,

 __

Nicolas Keaton”

 __

You skimmed over the letter a few more times, trying to fully grasp and retain the information you’d just received. It was best not to take the letter, you decided. So you committed the name Saint Denis and Nicolas Keaton to memory, and the admission to robbing the poor. You stuffed it back into the mess of other letters, which you found to be mostly sincere and heartfelt notes from his misled following. It made you sick to see such deceit and hypocrisy, from not just one man, but a team of conscious men. 

The sound of a door squeaking made you jump. 

Your mouth went dry, eyes going wide as you stiffened like rigor mortis had suddenly struck you. But you most certainly did not feel like a corpse- your heart was very much alive, hammering and pounding like the thunder roars along the plains- fast and hard and loud. Your head spun and the only thought that crossed your mind was to run. 

The dastardly face of a surprised Douglas Tanner greeted you. 

“How’d you get in here?” he asked, slowly, as he strutted over towards you. Each thump of his rattlesnake skin boots that sounded off made your panic worse. Fear ripped through you like a Gatling gun. 

He was _wicked._ Every sway of his hips and shoulders screamed Devil. The dancing, hateful fire in his his blue beady eyes made sweat slick your fingers and swiped away your tongue, like a curse. The door was closed behind him, and although he was slow he was big and could take you in one swoop of the arm. There was no way out of this one. He saw you. You were alone with him. 

Douglas grinned when you opened your mouth only for nothing to come out. You were cornered, knees backed against the chair behind you as he trapped you. He was blocking the door, taking away any chance of escape. A low, evil chuckle shook his round stomach. 

“I _said_ , how’d you get in here?” Douglas leaned forward, hands meeting the desk. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. His breath smelt like cigars, whiskey, and rot. 

“I-I got lost,” you somehow stuttered out. Your voice sounded small, petrified, and you knew you fucked everything up. 

“That don’t answer my question, sweetheart,” he drawled out, each syllable a beat too long and poisoned with honey. His face was inching closer and closer, you could see each pore on his face, smell the sweat on him, and count each little hair on his chin. Your mind was blanking. 

“The door was wide open,” you quickly lied, after swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I-I was just trying to find my way back to the parlor, sir, and I-I saw how pretty everthin’ looked, and well, I just couldn’t help myself from lookin’, you see.” 

“Didn’t your Daddy tell you not to meddle in the affairs of others?” he growled. You tried taking a step back, but the chair only shoved backwards, and you fell down into it. Douglas laughed, and lunged at the opportunity to pin you down into it. His fat, pink swollen hands gripped at the armrests. 

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” you squeaked, trying desperately to curl into yourself. “I was mindin’ my own business, just- admiring the decor. Nothin’ harmful.” 

“You talk like I’m stupid,” he muttered, eyes pushing you further into the seat. “I had a feelin’ ‘bout you the second I seen ya. All dolled up like some five dollar whore. The way you look up at me with those pretty little eyes o’ yours- I knew you was up to some trouble, little girl.” 

Ulcers formed one by one in your stomach. You wanted to scream, puke, and cry all at once. Bile clawed up your throat and it took all your will power not to spew it all over Douglas Tanner’s ugly face. You knew your innocent act wouldn’t pull through. He caught you. He had you in his grasp. You couldn’t fuck this up anymore than you had. So, you stared him down despite all your senses catching fire in the worst kind of way, and pushed out a reply. 

“You’re smarter than I thought,” you said, trying to remove any ounce of fear or hesitation from your voice. Your chest began to ache. 

“Uh huh,” he cooed, lip curling to reveal his rotten teeth. “So fess up, sweetheart, tell me the truth.” 

“I know you got money,” you said, “My Daddy don’t, but I know. I’m not so stupid as you think, either.” The confident facade surprised you, and you clutched the folds of your skirts hard. You could feel the heat of your sweaty hands through the fabric. “And I know how you’re gettin’ it.” 

“Oh?” He pressed forward. “How’s that?” 

“A thief knows a thief, Mr. Tanner,” you replied. Your tone was cool, but inside, everything was hellfire and panic. 

“Mr. Tanner,” he purred out, sickeningly and failingly seductive. “I like how you say that, sweetheart. Does your Daddy know he raised such a wretched thing?” 

“No,” you answered, “And I wanna keep it that way.” 

He hummed, nodding knowingly. “Your mama must have been wild.” 

“I sure as hell didn’t take after my father.” 

“Are you one to tattle, Miss Huckabee?” Douglas inquired. “A closed mouth comes at a price, Mr. Tanner.” You felt sicker and sicker the longer you sat there. You wanted nothing more than to leave and never come back. 

He chuckled again, and he lifted one hand up to grab your chin. He was surprisingly gentle, and you could have turned away easily, but you let him guide your face up towards his. You hoped that by complying, he’d let you go. 

“Mmh, you are smart, ain’t’cha,” he grinned, “If you don’t say anythin’, I won’t say anythin’. I’ll save your ass from your pa and from the law, if you’ll keep your sweet little trap shut, ya hear? ‘Cause the sherif is gonna believe me ‘fore they even _consider_ believin’ you.” 

“I’m not doing shit for free,” you gritted out. His fingers made your skin sting, and you were half-tempted to bite them off. All that fear began to evolve into something greater. Anger formed into a heavy rock in your stomach. 

“Neither am I,” he crooned. The look on his face was a dead giveaway as to what he meant. You stalled. 

“Pay me and I’ll do whatever you want,” you spat out. “If you let me in on your scheme here, I’ll help out. However you’d like me to.” 

Douglas’s hand moved from your chin, down your neck. His index finger traced the column of your throat before settling in the dip between your bare collar bones. You were certain he could feel your pulse pounding. He made you ill. 

“However I’d like, huh?” he mumbled. His eyes were on your chest. “I need proof of your word, girly.”

“Name a day,” you whispered. Your confidence was wearing thin now, you no longer trusted your voice not to shake. “I’ll be here.” 

“You _are_ a whore, ain’t ya?” he said, delighted. His fingertip trialed down your chest, towards the lace fringe of your bodice. You wanted to sob when you felt the weight of his digit begin to pull it down. You begged God to make Douglas stop, begged for him not to see the money or what was not meant to be seen. 

“I do w-what I can to get by. That’s just the way it is.” 

“The things I could do missy-” 

“Not now. Give me a day.” 

“Next Thursday,” he said quickly. He let go of you, and finally straightened up. He didn’t look away from you. “At nine in the evening.” 

You nodded desperately. “I’ll be here.” 

“You will be,” he laughed coldly, backing towards the door. “You will be.” 

Douglas Tanner left the room then, his smile lit up red from the stained light of the window. You knew that his face would be etched into your mind forever, the way he looked down your chest and was making you lie down with him. No relief came when he closed the door behind him. All facades were dropped, and you doubled over, fighting the choke of vomit and tears. 

* * *

“Tell us what happened, dear.” 

The evening air was warm, almost uncomfortably so. The humidity was heavy and stuck to your skin, the heat and weight of summer finally coming in. It was a reminder of change, because it felt so sudden. The air wasn’t so hot the other week. 

Your hands were still trembling. 

Your hair was down now, ripped from the bun Miss Grimshaw had put it in. The sleeves of your nightgown almost felt like too much, something reminiscent of spiders crawling along your wrists. Your nerves were shot and stomach hurt from all the anxiety you felt in that ruby glowing room with Douglas, the events of which no one yet knew. The confession was on the tip of your tongue and it tasted like blood. 

The ride home seemed long. Everyone else was chipper with wine rolling in their bellies, eyes bright with the hope of success. Nobody had caught on to your silence or grievous stares, not even Arthur. He and Miss Grimshaw were laughing and joking about something stupid Douglas Tanner had said over dinner. You didn’t remember much of what they said. You didn’t even remember half of what Douglas’s table sermon entailed, the world seemed so far away. Hearing the preacher’s voice made everything worse, and the image of him pulling back the lace trim of your bodice was burnt into your mind. You had done your part. And you’d never forget it. 

It wasn’t until you arrived back to camp did someone take notice of your unusual behavior. To no surprise it was Hosea. He was always quick to catch on, with his fast eyes and even faster brain. He saw as you made a beeline for your tent, and waited patiently outside of it as you viciously tore off your dress. You sobbed as you struggled to take your corset off alone, and you destroyed it in the process. The ribbons were all tangled and ripped now, eyelets pulled loose and ripped. You cried there, standing naked in the dark for a good few minutes until Hosea called your name. That’s when you finally pulled on some clothes, a pair of bloomers and a modest nightgown. It was too hot but you didn’t want to be seen. 

Hosea’s face dropped when you stepped out of your tent. 

He said nothing, but immediately took your hand and held it tight. The line of his lips was tight, his usual sour-looking face pinched even tighter. In the moonlight, his expression was hard to make out entirely, but you caught the firm yet sympathetic look in his eyes. It made your lip tremble, and your head fell against his chest. 

Hosea gently pet your hair, careful not to pull the tangles that was the product of teasing and curlers. He held your for a moment, quietly, and just let you sob out of the last bit of your tears. After a while, he pulled away, and you let him lead you over to the fire where everyone else was gathered. When you came into the warm, yellow light, everyone’s smiles faded. You felt guilty sucking away their joy like this, when they were so close to tasting the sweet quench of victory. But they hadn’t even heard your story yet, or what information you had reaped from the task they had given you. 

Hosea sat down next to you, arm around your shoulders. You didn’t know if touch was what you needed in that moment, but it was good to have him there with you. Dutch, face overwrought and nervous, shifted to sit across from you. The fire crackled and sparked with pine needles and dry wood between you. He looked almost ghostly. It was as if he had forgotten you’d been assigned a mission, been given a part in the plan, and you didn’t blame him. Everyone had their part to play. 

That’s when he spoke, voice easy and gentle as he inquired of what went down. Nervously, your eyes dropped to the red-tipped flames. It seemed like minutes went by until words finally formed in your mouth. 

“I found his office,” you said. “His study. The door was left open. There... were letters all over his desk, but I only had time to read one. It was from a man, named... named Keaton, Nicolas Keaton, somethin’ like that. He mentioned something about moving to a church in Saint Denis? Somethin’ about more money, more desperate people. He- _Tanner,_ is gonna get a move on soon.” 

Dutch’s jaw clenched, and his brown eyes rolled to the left in thought. Hosea stiffened beside you. 

You looked towards Arthur, and he was watching you. His brows were low over his eyes and he looked just as tense everyone else. Susan was waiting with wide eyes. 

“Dammit,” Dutch grumbled. His hand met his knee in a fist. “How soon?” 

You shook your head and shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t say.” 

“Looks like we’ll have to change our course of action,” Dutch said. He straightened up, thumb meeting his chin in thought. He looked to Hosea. “We can’t go chasing after him. We need to be out of this town before Mr. Tanner is.” 

“I don’t think we can get out of this one quietly, Dutch,” Hosea sighed. 

“We can’t,” you piped up again. Your throat hurt from crying, and the corners of your eyes felt raw as you rubbed at them. A wave of exhaustion rolled over you. “He... He knows.” 

“He knows what?” 

“He knows that I know he’s stealing from the poor.” 

Everyone leaned forward, and you could feel their eyes putting bullets in your brain. 

“What do you mean?” Dutch growled out slowly. 

You swallowed dryly. “I-I... He found me in his office, caught me reading through his letters. I’m s-sorry, Dutch,” your voice began to break, “but I-I couldn’t pretend to be no lost girl. He ain’t stupid, he ain’t, he knew I was gettin’ into trouble. But he, he don’t know our plans, he just thinks I’m the only one tryin’ to get into things. He doesn’t know anything else.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” you huffed out, nodding. “He said- but he... he told me- he said, that if I- he offered me- I told him- 

“What did he say, Y/N?” Dutch pushed. He was on the edge of his seat, shoulders square and frame rigid. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as the memory of what happened began replaying. 

“He said if I didn’t tell, he wouldn’t tell,” you sputtered. It came out too fast, and you missed the way Dutch’s brow shot up in confusion. 

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said. “If I know a crook, and I do, there’s always a catch.” 

“There is,” you said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. “I told him... I told him that unless he paid me, I wouldn’t keep quiet. And he- he said that he’ll pay me if I... if I-” 

“If you **what?** ” 

_“If I lie down with him.”_

Everything went still. The continuous, dancing flames even seemed to pause, and every living creature in the trees held their breath. No one around the fire moved. The silence ate at you like maggots eat at flesh. It didn’t take much for you to give in, and you slumped forward, your hair falling after your face like curtains. You gasped and wheezed into the palms of your hands. You felt weak, and small, all over again. In your mind, you had fucked up. You had ruined everything and the only way to reverse all of it was to have sex with a man that made your skin crawl. 

You flinched hard when gentle hands pushed back your hair. 

Light came back into your world when Dutch pulled your hands down, and took them into his own. He didn’t react to the feel of saltwater tears, only curled his fingers tighter around yours. You didn’t even hear him get up and cross over to you. He was kneeling down in front of you, brown eyes deep and sparkling and real. He no longer looked like a ghost or something from your dream. All you could see was your father. 

“You brave, brave girl,” he breathed. The wine on his breath was sweet and the smell of his cologne was tainted with campfire smoke. You cried openly now, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as he praised you so sincerely. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“Hush,” he cooed. “It’s alright. Don’t be sorry. Things are goin’ to be fine.” 

“I ruined it!” You hiccuped, half choking. “I fucked it all up, Dutch!” 

Dutch sighed softly, then let go of one of your hands to cup the back of your head. He looked down hard at you. 

“You didn’t ruin anything, dear Y/N. You did what you had to do. You were _brave._ I wish I could have been in that room with you, but you did it. You made it out and everything is goin’ to be fine. I promise you,” he said. Each word was firm, and genuine. You began to believe him, the longer his eyes were on yours. 

“What are we gonna do, Dutch?” You whimpered out. 

“Don’t you worry about that,” he hushed. “You need to rest, sweetheart. We’ll do the fussin’, alright? I’m proud of you. I’m so, _so_ proud of you.” 

When Dutch smiled at you and patted your cheek, you felt your tears stop. He stood up and nodded to Hosea, who gave you a small squeeze before standing. The two men both looked over you. Then Arthur jumped to his feet. 

“Did he touch you?” Arthur growled, with such ferocity and rage that it caught everyone off guard. You recoiled slightly, blinking up at him. 

“I-I- no, he didn’t,” you stuttered. The sudden outburst almost scared you. 

“Don’t **lie** to me,” he hissed. Hosea quickly stepped in and out a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Stop it, Arthur!” Miss Grimshaw shrieked. She stood up and marched over to you, and hoisted you up by the arm. Her grip hurt, but you didn’t say anything. You just watched Arthur over the fire as he balled his fists, lunged at the air, and seethed. “You’re scaring her!” 

**“I’ll kill the bastard!”** he screamed, foot stomping against the earth. **“I’ll kill that fucking son of a bitch!”**

Susan began to drag you away towards your tent, and you couldn’t do anything but comply as your legs carried you along with her. You kept looking over your shoulder at Arthur, as Hosea and Dutch held him there, trying to calm him as he hollered himself blue in the face. 

* * *

********

His hand caught yours, fingers interlocking. Sweat formed between the skin but no effort was made to pull away. Everything stayed in place for that moment.

The frogs chirped and trilled, their chorus large and loud enough to be heard all the way from the creek that was deep into the trees. Stars sparkled brightly overhead, the moon bright and full. Every thing else was still, as if it were waiting for something to happen. There wasn’t even a breeze. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Arthur said. His voice was quiet, a near whisper. He turned his head towards you, and there was guilt and grief written all over his face. You leaned towards him. 

“It’s fine,” you replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Your lips weren’t ready to smile. 

Briefly, you remembered how you got here, standing side by side with Arthur. 

After Miss Grimshaw had pulled you along back to your tent, she sat down on your cot with you and asked about Douglas. You told her everything, everything that you didn’t tell Dutch, and she held you. Such moments of tenderness were rare with her, and you relished in the feeling of being coddled by a woman. She was the closest thing to a mother you’d had. But the moment was short lived. Susan dismissed herself and told you to get some rest, and you were all alone once again. 

Minutes went by as you laid in your bed, staring at the darkness above you. It was all too overwhelming, to be by yourself. All you could hear was the low, scratchy growl of Douglas Tanner, and see his beady eyes staring back at you. You hated how it rattled you so much. 

You slipped from your tent and snuck into Arthur’s. 

He always awoke easily, he needed to in this life. So when you gently shook him, his eyes popped right open, and he sat up. There were no words exchanged, he just stare at you as you stood there. He and Copper followed you when you turned around, and left. 

So now you were here, standing along the tree line. You both had your backs to camp, peering into either the forest or the stars. 

“I said I wasn’t gonna let him touch you.” 

You looked into Arthur’s eyes, and he was staring at you with deep sincerity, all his emotions out on the table for you to see. It made your heart twinge. 

“He didn’t touch me,” you whispered. “Not really. It’s... it’s fine.” 

“‘Not really?’ Y/N, I-,” he huffed out a sigh, and you could tell he was forcing himself not to get worked up again. “I ain’t too sure what happened, and I ain’t gonna make you tell me. But he must have done somethin’ to get you so scared ‘n shakin’ up.” 

“He... I thought I messed everythin’ up,” you said quietly. “When he came into that room, I thought I was done for. _We_ was done for. I ain’t been that scared since... since, I don’t know when.” 

Arthur moved closer to you now, listening intently to every word you said. 

“He... he’s real sick, Arthur. I... I don’t want to talk about it that much, not really. I just don’t want to be alone,” you confessed. 

“I know,” he breathed. Something you couldn’t place set in his face. “And that’s fine. I want you to know that if that- if that bastard ever hurts you, touches you, or even so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll kill him. I will rip his fat head _clean_ off his shoulders.” 

You glanced down towards your feet, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I believe it, Arthur. Thank you.” 

“Hey, look at me. **I fucking mean it, Y/N.** You’re... you mean a lot to me. I don’t say it much, or-or probably as much as I should, but, you do. We been- you and me, we been through so much already t’gether. I’d... How do I say this... You’re ‘bout as close as close can get t’ me. You’re my best friend. And if I lost you, in whatever way- if someone hurt you, I don’t know what I’d do.” 

Arthur’s free hand came up to lay on your shoulder as he spoke. Each word felt so heavy and meaningful as they left his mouth, and you felt the familiar sting of tears in your eyes. But it wasn’t out of sadness or fear, but out of something else that you couldn’t name. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you choked out. 

“Don’t thank me,” he said, shaking his head. “I should... I should thank you, I guess.” 

You blinked up at him, confused. 

“You... you’ve been my friend. And put up with my bullshit. You.. stayed, so... I don’t gotta be alone in this all,” he admitted. 

You wanted to kiss him, hug him, and cry into him all at once. Arthur was being so vulnerable with you, which he didn’t do often. Your chest ached and lip trembled. You loved Arthur Morgan. You loved him with all your heart and goddamned soul. He was the greatest friend you had ever had, and you had to respect that. Because as much as you wanted fling yourself into his arms and call him yours, you knew that having him here beside you was a blessing alone. You first loved him as a friend before you loved him as anything more. 

“Oh, _Arthur,_ ” you breathed. “You’re my family. I’d.. I’d do anythin’ for you, I would.” 

He gave you a grim sort of smile, as if he didn’t know what to say. Arthur’s hand escaped yours, and he enveloped his arms around you. Instinctively, you hugged him back, leaned into him. Softly, you began to cry, the sounds muffled by his chest. 

“You’re family, too,” he said, and his voice rumbled throughout his body. It was a low, comforting sound. “You’re family, too.” 

And the night carried on. Because no matter how much time seems to stand still, it keeps on going. It neither waits nor stops for anyone. The earth will never cease to spin, the sun will always rise, and the wind will always blow. It’s a cruel cycle, the passing of time. It brings change along with it, and together, they are the most unstoppable of forces. So while Arthur held you as you cried, the sun was slowly, but surely, beginning it’s trek back around. It was a silent, but ruthless reminder that things changed, and things carried on. And that’s just the way it is.


	28. A Premonition; Beginnings Of Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silas takes you on your first ride with Moonshine, and it all goes down from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY!!! I know chapters have been coming in slow, but I am not giving up on this fic lol. I love writing it, and I love sharing it with you all. Thank you all again for reading and all your support, have fun!! Enjoy reading!! Yeehaw!!

_*June 19, 1882*_

“By god, you did it! You’re actually ridin’ that son of a bitch!” 

Sitting up on top of Moonshine, you had never felt more proud. Four straight months of continuous hard work, all led to this very moment. You sat taller, quite literally, with pride. A smile didn’t ever leave your face and you were feeling better than you ever had. 

“Did I just hear you swear, Mr. Kidd?” you called out. You looked over your shoulder at Silas. He was hanging off the fence, clutching his straw hat over his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His outline was dark against the blinding midday sun. 

“Yes you did, Y/N! And quit it with the mister thing!” he hollered back. You hear his smile and it made you chuckle. 

“I just feel like I don’t know you quite so well anymore!” 

The barrel of Moonshine’s body was hot, even through the saddle. It felt strange, new, and exciting to be up on the back of a horse without another person. Moonshine was tall, and strong beneath you. There was a certain satisfaction that came with riding your own horse, one that you had trained and bonded with day after day. It had contentment stuffed in your bones and a glowing halo above your head. 

“Hopefully that thought doesn’t excite you.” 

“Never- you’ve become... a good friend, of sorts.” 

Silas leaned up towards the top rail, his body pivoting forward as you nudged a fitful Moonshine over towards him. Moonshine wasn’t a good listener, by any means. It took hard tugs on the reins to get him to turn, and he was constantly fighting your control. He was far from finished, but you loved him good and hard, even if he was a big asshole of a horse. He tossed his head, and Silas shied away some. 

“That’s good, I think,” Silas said, nervously glancing from Moonshine to you. “I like to think we’ve come a long way.” 

You laughed, and reached down to pat your horse’s bluely neck affectionately. Your eyes were warm when they settled on Silas, and when he caught your gaze he turned bashful, for once. Beneath his beard, his lips curled. His cheeks were rosy with sunburn. 

“I think we have,” you nodded, “I used to think you were annoying as hell.” 

“With a little more time, think of what else could change,” Silas cooed. There is was again, that charm. He was always so hopeful, painfully optimistic and patient, and goddamn _stubborn_. And despite that, and even more, you couldn't find it in you to want to be with him. 

“I’m afraid we don't got time, Silas,” you said. You could feel the edges of your smile begin to fade, and his face fell flat. 

“What do y’mean?” he asked. His voice was faint, and it had something pulling at your chest. 

_“Well,”_ you began, with a sigh, “I... I told you this before, but... guess I’ll remind you. I ain’t got long to stick around. Papa’s movin’ business and we only stayed long enough to get our bearings, and well- we about got ‘em.” 

Silas nodded, driven to silence. His eyes fell to Moonshine, who was shifting and stirring in place. He looked over the horse’s face, blinking absently as he chewed his lip. You felt guilty- seems like you always did anymore. Guilty and sad. And seeing Silas like this only added to the burden on your back. He was trying so hard for someone he couldn’t have. 

“You’re right. I knew I’d see you off one day, but... not so soon,” he said. 

“I know,” you admitted, “I didn’t either.” 

“When do you leave?” 

“I’m not sure. Papa don’t tell me a whole lot.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Well,” Silas huffed, “Best I really enjoy these last few moments, then. And I’ll be damned if I don’t see you ride this beast like a cowboy rides prairie.” 

“Silas!” You gasped, eyes going wide at another swear. “You kiss your ma with that mouth?” 

“The only kissing I plan to do is with you, darling, I don’t think a few foul words on my lips will bother you.” 

Your ribcage ignited with warmth, your head throwing back with hard laughter. All shame and pain was washed away in that moment. Even Silas’s sullen expression had swapped for a beaming smile. 

“You think can get away with that, mister?” you asked. You looked down at him with a playful grin, cheeks already stinging. 

“I’ve gotten away with a lot,” he answered, giving you a nod. “What’s a little kiss?” 

“A whole lot,” you laughed, shrill and loud. “More than you could ever afford.” 

“We’ll see about that,” he said. Silas pointed a narrow finger at you a few times before capping his head with his straw hat. “How about I get my horse and we go for a ride?” 

Your laughed dropped into a gasp, eyes going wide. “A ride? Silas, I ain’t got him trained so well on this saddle, he is not- I’m not even ready to take ‘im out on a trail!” 

“We can ride through the cattle pasture back b’hind my house. That way in case anything funny happens, and he runs off, we can care for you first and find him second. He’ll be fenced in, nothin’ to worry about,” Silas said simply. 

“Silas, I-” 

“The sooner you get him runnin’, the sooner he’ll mind you. Besides, he could use some real hard work.” 

“Silas-!” 

“We ain’t had fun- well, since that one night. I’ll get my horse. You can’t worm out of this one.” 

And then Silas walked off, his swagger worn into a slow walk. You noticed the way his shoulders seemed to slump, and how his chin kept to his chest. But you couldn’t overthink it for long, because Moonshine yanked the reigns right from your hands the second he felt them slack. 

* * *

The sky seemed to stretch on forever and ever above you, the thick white clouds massive and untouchable. A veil of the richest blue you’ve ever seen was brightened by the early summer sun. A warm breeze blew across the land, and the thick grass that carpeted the hills a vibrant green moved like an ocean. It bowed and reached in waves in the wind, and you tore through them, feeling like a sailor crashing through the most beautiful storm. 

Moonshine was unbelievably strong. His muscles matched the strength of a steam train, and his spirit was wild like Devil lived inside of him. He ripped through the field like lightning. A fire burned in his belly and you could practically see smoke puff from his nostrils as he snorted and squealed. You knew this what he needed, what you both needed. 

Silas followed after you on his horse, Jezebel. She was a black thoroughbred mare, with a smart white blaze down her nose. She was nimble, and quick, but not quite as fast as Moonshine. It felt unreal, and impossible, to ride along without a goal, without a real mission or any threat. Just to carry on, with a friend, was remarkable in a way one can’t describe. It gave you goosebumps and made your head feel airy, almost in the way a cigarette does. 

The last time you rode hard and fast and fun like this was years ago, before you knew what real pain felt like, or could understand hurt passed a spank or scolding. The memory of your father seemed so hazy anymore, but you couldn’t find it in you to be bothered. The thrill of speed wiped every terrible thing away in that moment, and it ended all too soon when Silas hollered at you to slow down. 

“There’s a creek down this way,” he said, pointing down the hill. “We can stop there a moment, let the horses rest.” 

You nodded, and gave him a cheeky smile. He returned it, eyes bright and happy, then kicked Jezebel back into action. You shrieked out a laugh and pushed Moonshine after him. Your horse seemed high on the speed, too, and he was eager to comply. You both raced right down to the water. 

* * *

The creek was deep, but flowed quietly as it winded between two hills. A young sycamore tree grew alone on the edge of the bank, where the dirt took a sudden drop down into the water. The stream was murky and brown, but nonetheless pretty and a peaceful sight to see. It was cool closer to the edge, and you sat down with a sigh after hitching Moonshine to watch it slither slowly along. 

“Holy shit,” you said, pushing your tangled hair back, “That bastard can run!” 

Silas laughed, a breathy wheeze, and settled down next to you. His brow gleamed with sweat, his clothes disheveled and crooked. His eyes were kind as he smiled at you. 

“Yes he can, by god,” he huffed, “I haven’t ridden that hard since... since well, I don’t even know when.” 

“A fast horse is what I needed,” you said. “And a strong one. He’s good, he’s real good.” 

“What for?” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you need a fast horse for?” Silas asked. The question was innocent, but the answer you had wasn’t something you were proud to share. A flash of fear shot through you. 

“If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya,” you answered. You wore a smile in an attempt to hide that little sick feeling with amusement. 

Silas grinned. “You wouldn’t ever.” 

“I dunno,” you sighed, humor ringing in your voice, “When I first met you in that corral, I coulda shot you dead without a second thought.” 

“I still don’t believe that. Surely you didn’t think so lowly of me?” “Oh, sure I did,” you admitted. You happy for the turn of conversation, though you could have just lied to him when he asked his question. It felt wrong to think of lying to him, however. He was a friend. 

“Wow,” Silas mumbled. He blinked a few times, trying to fully understand your words. “If you thought I was a bother _then,_ how do you feel about me now?” 

“Not the same way you want me to feel,” you said. “I don’t mean to be so frank, but, must be truthful.” 

“How do you think I want you to feel?” he pressed, leaning towards you. There was a certain light to his face, and you couldn’t quite tell if it was hurt or indifference. 

“In love with you,” you answered plainly. “You ain’t too subtle.” 

“Am I supposed to be?” 

“I ain’t quite sure,” you said. “I don’t know how love works, or at least, not entirely.” 

“I could show you,” he breathed, words quick and soft. You looked him over with a creased brow, at the sudden desperation in his expression. Silas reached for your hand, which you allowed him to take, but not without caution. 

“What do you mean?” you asked slowly. 

“Well, I-," Silas paused, glancing at where your hands met as he wet his lip. “I think I have fallen quite in love with you, Y/N. These past few months have been so wonderful, and to get to know you has lightened my life immensely. I’ve never met a girl like you, and I... I love that. I love you, foul-mouth and all.” 

Your cheeks burned. Your blood stopped for a moment as you processed his confession and your fingers went cold. Little moths fluttered around in your sore stomach, and your tongue was reeled far back into your mouth. A man you had only known for roughly four months told you he loved you. And that man was looking at you with the most sincere expression, with the sweetest eyes, and an open heart- the feeling of obligation and peacemaking was hard to fight. 

_“Silas,”_ you began, averting your gaze, “You know we would never work.” 

“I’d love you from across the sea,” he said, urgent and hushed. He pulled at your hand, clasping it between both of his like you might try to run. “It’s... it’s immeasurable.” 

“We _can’t_ be together,” you croaked. Your throat was dry with anxiety. You didn’t want to lie to him anymore than you had, or to break his heart. Tension began rapidly building in your chest, your ribcage a dam bound to break with this flash flood of emotion. Tears pricked your eyes, giving way to your uncertainty and confusion. “There’s still a lot of things you don’t know about me, Silas.” 

“We’d have our whole lives to learn,” he said. “One can’t build a temple in just one day.” 

“No, but it’s hard to build it yourself,” you whispered, “though I believe you’ve done just that.” 

“What do you mean?” Silas asked. His face was inches from yours now. You wished it didn’t hurt to put him down. 

“I’m- I’m not entirely who you think I am, Silas,” your throat felt tight as you spoke, “Maybe you’ve... maybe you’ve got this idea you made up ‘bout who I am and you’ve fallen in love with that. I ain’t bein’ cruel, Silas, but you don’t know me. Not wholly. And I... I don’t- I don’t love you, not like you love me.” 

You could hear your heart throb as Silas nodded solemnly. His face looked sullen, much as it had earlier when you told him you’d soon be leaving. His dark eyes were sad as he blinked down at your hands. His lip disappeared between his teeth, his posture drooped. You both sat there I’m buzzing silence, and the little brook quietly whispered as it pushed on through. It seemed like forever ago you’d just sat down here, body tingling with the thrill of riding your own horse. But now, you were worriedly waiting for your friend to say something. You couldn’t help but like you always ruined everything. 

“I understand,” Silas said. His voice was quiet in a painful way, and you squeezed his hand in an attempt to console him, or apologize despite not wanting to feel sorry. He finally met your eyes again and the warm brown of them was comforting. “I... I’m sorry if I- if I spoiled your day or the fun you were having, but- but I needed to tell you that before you left. I don’t enjoy knowing that my time with you is measured so strictly on the clock. I suppose I have taken your company for granted, in a way. I do wish to know you, know you more than... than I guess I think I do. I love you, I know I love you right now, very much, Y/N. But I also know I can’t... I can’t make you feel the same.” 

You eased. Some part of you expected him to be angry, or to hit for for even implying you weren’t who he thought you were, or for rejecting him. A small, but grim smile graced your face. It was flattering to know someone was in love with you, and to hear someone say it out loud had you rosy, but it was unrequited. In a way, you saw yourself in Silas. You loved Arthur, deep and hard. And yet you sat suffering everyday knowing he didn’t feel the same about you. A gentle sigh left you, and you patted his hand. 

“Thank you, Silas,” you said softly. “Thank you for understanding. I hope... I hope I didn’t break your heart so much that you don’t wanna still be friends. ‘Cause, well, ‘cause you’re my friend. And I don’t have so many. I’d like to keep you as a dear companion.” 

“If I said I didn’t want you around still, I don’t think that’d be love,” he replied. “Of course I still want to be your friend. It’s better than not having you at all, though it might hurt. I’ll take whatever I can get.” 

“Then come on, Mr. Kidd. Best we head back ‘fore it gets too late.” You stood up, and helped pull him to his feet. He pouted some at the name, which you knew he despised, but you only gave him a grateful smile. 

“Fine, then.” 

“Last one back to the stables is a degenerate ratbag!” 

_“Y/N!”_

* * *

The sun was halfway to setting, the time around five o’clock. Warmth and dust lingered in the dry air as the wind had died down. All the massive, cotton-tailed clouds had marched westward, shining all bright and golden as they paraded the early evening sun. The race back seemed longer than the last. Maybe it was because Moonshine had already given it his all, or because Silas’s laughter wasn’t so lively as it usually was. 

Moonshine nearly collided with the cow pasture’s fence as you tried to slow him to a stop. He was still getting used to the feel of a bit, and being controlled. You lurched forward and almost went spiraling down over your horse’s neck, but Silas pulled up on Jezebel and yanked you back by your shirt. 

“Goddamn,” you gasped, “what a bastard!” 

“He’s still a bit of a wild little thing,” Silas said, half panting and half grunting. He straightened up in his saddle, and pushed back his hair. The black strands followed easily, and it only then occurred to you that it had gotten long. “You take him real well, though, with him not being gated.” 

“Thank you,” you responded, tone simple and soft. “I’ll sit right on this son of a bitch if it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I bet,” Silas chuckled. “Now, come on. Unless you would like to try to jump the fence, I’ve got the gate left open for us.” 

With a short laugh, you followed after him. Jezebel’s head hung low and her steps were labored as Silas steered her toward’s the stables. Moonshine was grunting and snorting, trying to be stubborn with you. But with a nudge of the heels, he kept on going. 

You got him to stop just outside the corral you trained him in, and slid out of the saddle. Silas let out a low ‘whoa’, and watched as you began loosening the its girth. 

“You can take his tack off inside, you know,” he said. “It would be easier that way.” 

“I know,” you called back. Your fingers worked at the stiff leather belt on Moonshine’s side. “I wanna keep him out for a moment. I figure it’s about time I take him back with me. He proved to be alright out there, and there ain’t no sense in puttin’ him away just to take ‘im back out.” 

You didn’t look back when you heard Silas’s feet hit the ground. 

“ _Ah_... I-I understand. You can keep the saddle, then. The bridle, too.” 

You spun on your heel to face the man, jaw slack and eyes wide. He was standing there by the water trough beside Jezebel, looking spent and tired. 

“Silas,” you gaped, “these are still good. Your father was already generous enough to take this horse for free. I-I don’t wanna rob you.” 

“You’re not robbing me, or my father,” he said, with a lazy wave of his hand. “I think you’ve earned them, all of it. I didn’t think anything good would come of that creature, but you proved me wrong. My old man, too.” 

“I can’t believe you.” You shouldn’t have felt surprised, or honored in any way. You were a thief, a crook, and should have felt as lucky as a rabbit’s foot as this steal. You didn’t expect him to be so kind after you turned his affections away. 

“Well, you better,” he said. “I couldn’t- It wouldn’t feel right sending you away without something to ride on. Heaven knows how bad that could turn out.” 

“I’d be alright,” you replied. You began moving towards him, closing the space between the two of you. “I usually am. I always find a way to make it out okay.” 

“I wish I could have you.” 

The sudden break in his voice made your heart wilt. Silas was staring right at you, but it wasn’t intimidating or scary. When Douglas had pinned you down, he was trying to get you to conform and submit with his eyes. He wanted you, too, but in a way different than Silas did. The contrast between the emotion between the two men’s eyes had you soft around the edges. 

“I know,” you whispered, once you were close enough to him. “I know.” 

“I wish you’d tell me everything there is to know about you,” he continued. His tone was hushed and sad, eyes even sadder as he gently took your hands. “I love you, I do.” 

“Maybe one day, you will,” you answered. There was a frog in your throat. “But you know what I said and how I feel. And I stand by that still.” 

“One day,” he repeated, a broken whisper. “One day I will.” 

“You can write to me. To the name of Dutch Huckabee, and I’ll write back. Always.” 

“When... when do you leave?” 

“I already told you, I don’t know. Sometime after Thursday, maybe. Soon.” 

“That’s too soon,” he gasped, “Y/N-” 

“This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me,” you said. You pushed a smile just for him. “We’re friends, remember? I ain’t one to forget my friends along the way.” 

“Alright,” he muttered. His shoulder’s slumped, defeated. “I’ll... I trust you.” 

You leaned in, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. The wiry hairs of his beard tickled your chin, and his skin was almost hot against your lips. A quiet sigh left him, and you pulled away. 

“Thank you, Silas,” you said, stepping away. “Thank you.” 

He gave you a smile, something ghostly and weak that had your heart breaking. And then Arthur rode in, ever one to ruin the moment. 

* * *

“I’m not even gonna ask what the hell that was.” 

“It was exactly what you saw,” you bit, pulling on the reigns as Moonshine veered off the path. 

“What _I_ saw and what _you think_ I saw, are two completely different things.” 

“Then please, tell me what you saw.” 

“Well, what I saw was you kissin’ that goddamn cowpunch!” 

“I kissed him on the cheek, Arthur.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

“There’s a big fuckin’ difference, dumbass!” you snapped. 

Arthur was your ride into town, and was supposed to be your ride out. After he found you at the stables, you tried to argue with him that you’d be fine riding back alone, but he wasn’t having any of that. 

_“That horse ain’t had a saddle on him more than a minute and you wanna try to go back alone?”_ he had whined, _“Over my dead body!”_

So, now you were stuck with a bitchy Arthur Morgan and a bitchy horse. They truly were alike. 

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Arthur growled. His hat was set low against the sun, jaw tight and shoulders drawn even tighter. 

“I don’t,” you barked. “Not in the way you’re thinkin’!” 

“This is confusin’ me.” 

“Listen,” you grunted, shifting in your black leather saddle. “Silas is just a friend, nothin’ more. Though.... though he wishes otherwise. But I ain’t lookin’ to be his wife or to be stuck in this goddamn town forever, or even to kiss him on the mouth!” 

“ _‘He wishes otherwise’_? What the hell does that mean?” 

“Arthur- oh, my god. You’re not that stupid.” 

“That answers my question real nice.” 

“Ugh! Silas in love with me,” you snapped. The words felt strange to say and even stranger to hear in your own voice. It had you feeling wrong, and your cheeks burned. It was almost hard to believe, even. Your eyes flickered down to the dirt road as shame began worming into your stomach. 

_**“He’s in love with you?!”**_

Arthur’s sudden roar had Moonshine screaming. The horse spun, nearly colliding with Black Beard, and bolted off the path. The reins were yanked from your hands as Moonshine rabidly tossed his head, and all you were left to hold onto was the saddle horn. Brush and limbs swiped at your face and arms as you went crashing through the woods. Moonshine squealed and huffed, his hooves tearing up the ground underneath him as he ran. You shouted, eyes squeezing shut tight. He was a madman, and you were convinced he was possessed as he plowed through the shrubbery like a bull. Your feet flung out of the stirrups, and you were forced to cling to the horse just to stay on. From somewhere behind you, you heard Arthur yell, but you couldn’t make it out. The sound of pounding hearts and hooves, and the cracking of tree limbs was too loud. 

“Arthur!” You screamed, clutching Moonshine’s black mane, “Arthur! I need your help, dammit!” 

Your shaky fingers groped at Moonshine’s neck, trying desperately to find reins. When you felt the rough scratch of raw leather, you almost laughed in relief. You pulled it, pushing yourself up to sit up straight. You almost bashed your head into a low branch as you moved, and you brought the reins back hard. Moonshine’s gallop stuttered, and he danced in fast, sharp circles. The jerky movement had you toppling sideways, and your life flashed before your eyes. Your hit the ground hard, your breath leaving you with a huff. 

You didn’t see Arthur as he pushed Black Beard through the brush, a lasso swinging above his head. He threw it perfectly, his aim always good and sure, and the loop caught Moonshine by the neck. The horse’s head tugged back, and Moonshine fought the pull. He reared, squealing and hollering. His hooves nearly planted themselves into your head as he dropped back down. You barely had enough time to roll away. You struggled to get to your feet, and once you could, you collapsed against a tree. You watched as your horse slowly succumbed to the confines of the rope, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring. Adrenaline pumped through your blood like rattlesnake venom as you panted. Your knees went weak and legs felt limp. 

Arthur reeled in the lasso, then reaches out to put a hand on Moonshine’s neck when he was close enough. Your horse hesitated, unsure of Arthur, but visibly eased into his touch. Arthur cooed soft things to him until he was calm enough to stop fighting. He tied the rope in a strong knot to his saddle horn, then dismounted. He kept the reins in his hand, and stepped towards you. 

“Goddamn,” he hissed. “The hell did you train him to do? Kill you?” 

You rubbed at your shoulder, absently pacing over to Arthur. You slipped instinctively beneath his outstretched arm. Your brain was rattled from how fast everything had happened. 

“You spooked him,” you said. You felt dizzy as Arthur guided you to be horses. 

“Sure, blame it on me,” he grumbled. “‘Cause I’m always the one at fault, here.” 

“Arthur...” 

He stopped, and looked down at you. You were huddled into him like a duckling beneath its mother’s wing. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, leaves and twigs in your hair and thin nicks striped your face. Your eyes were distant and expression shaken as you stare into the trees. You looked like a mess, and Arthur sighed. He tossed the reins over Black Beard’s head and hoisted you up into the saddle. You whined, and whipped your head around to watch him like some kind of scared animal. His face went soft. 

“I’m not lettin’ you back on that horse,” he said, voice low and gruff with finality. “At least not tonight.” 

“I don’t think Moonshine’d like it if you rode him,” you mumbled. 

“Oh,” Arthur grimly chuckled, “I’m not ridin’ that shithead.” 

“Then what are you...?” 

“I’m ridin’ with you,” he replied. Your cheeks flushed as he tossed himself up onto the horse, and settled in behind you. His hands pushed your hips forward until he was comfortable against you. One arm wrapped around your middle. “I don’t trust you behind me after that fall.” 

“I’d be fine,” you murmured. Your head was hazy, but not so much that you didn’t pick up on the intimate feeling you felt with Arthur so close to you. The heat of his body felt good, and different in a way than the sun did. You could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, and his hips shift against you as Black Beard stepped through the woods. You didn’t fight your desire to relax against him- you melted, your head fitting cozily against his neck. 

“I don’t believe that,” he said. His voice was a soft rasp. You’d noticed that over the years, cigarettes had replaced the smoothness of his tone with something husky. You didn’t mind, and the reverb of it vibrated through your ribcage. You sighed softly. 

“You should,” you whispered. “I’m fine. I always been fine.” 

He chuckled. “Not always.” 

The sight of the yellowed sky was a relief. Once you were back onto the road toward’s camp, Arthur nudged Black Beard into a trot and Moonshine followed suit. The rocking of the ride was calming, and as your adrenaline buzz died, the pains in your body became more and more apparent. 

_“Ow,”_ you groaned. A dull throb began to spread through your shoulder. You had landed on it when you fell off of Moonshine. 

“You alright?” Arthur asked. “I guess I didn’t really take the time to check.” 

“I’m just hurtin’,” you responded through gritted teeth. “I fell harder than I thought.” 

“Where, uh, where does it hurt?” 

“Everywhere, just about,” you huffed. “But my shoulder feel the worst right now.” 

“Which one?” 

“The right one.” 

Arthur’s sudden touch made you wince, and he quickly pulled away. You missed the security of his arm wrapped around you, but the way his fingers apologetically trailed down your back made you shiver. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice awkward and nervous. “I-I just... thought maybe that would help.” 

“It’s probably gonna bruise,” you said. You breath hitched when his hand slid forward to your hip, his thumb accidentally catching in one of the belt loops of your jeans. “Not too much that can help that.” 

“Right...” he grumbled. He cleared his throat, then twisted in the saddle. The slight roll of his hips against you made you blush. “But uh... About Silas.” 

“Don’t berate me,” you hissed. You were flustering at his touches. 

“I’m not, I won’t. I reckon I’ve... put you through enough hell already.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Does he know?” 

“Does he know what?” 

“Who we are. What we do.” 

“No,” you answered. “I don’t plan on tellin’ him. Does Mary know?” 

“No.” 

“Are ya ever going to tell her?” 

“I don’t know. She’s rather smart, I wouldn’t be surprised if she found out herself.” 

“Hm.” 

There was silence for a few minutes between the two of you. His hand didn’t leave your side, and you didn’t make any effort to move, despite how much the topic of Mary soured you. You looked out towards the passing scenery, distracting yourself with the sunset and the counting of trees. It didn’t last long, because Arthur let out a heavy sigh and his breath tickled your ear. You warmed. 

“I have to admit, I kinda like that little town,” he said. There was a heaviness to his voice. 

“I don’t,” you grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ much good about it.” 

“You’re just bitter.” 

You frowned, cuddling down against Arthur more. He received you easily, and his arm slipped back around you protectively. It felt normal, and good, but the thoughts in your head made you nervous. 

“No,” you said, squinting into the horizon, “I just... have a strange feelin’ about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooOooooOooo red herring or foreshadowing????????? yOU deCIDE


	29. Needle’s Eye: IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You enter the lion’s den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This chapter is a bit of a ride. I hope you guys are doing well, and that your summer went well for you all. Please enjoy this wild chapter!! Also,,  
> TW: mentions of assault, nonconsenual themes

_*June 21, 1882*_

Three hard knocks on solid oak wood could not outdo the rampant beating of your heart. It was all you heard, the anxious pumping and rush of blood to your ears. Your fingers felt cold as you pulled them away from the metal door knocker, despite it being late June and the heat running high. Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth. 

You stepped back away from the door as if it had bit you, and looked up towards the windows. They were all glowing yellow with lanterns and candlelight, a usually warm and comforting color. But instead of easing your nerves, it made your stomach tighten and churn and sting with anxiety. It meant someone was home. It meant the lion inside was awake, and you were waiting on the doorstep of his den. 

Your breath caught in your throat when you glanced over your shoulder. In the darkness of the trees, your family was hiding. You could envision them plainly as they hid, in the same fashion as you had left them. They had their gun’s polished and ready, their clothes black and faces all shades of angry and excited. The horses were hidden away down the road. But Moonshine, your hellish steed, was tied up to the hitching post, only a few feet from where you stood. Knowing your horse, your _escape_ , was so close was a comfort to you. You just wished you could abandon this whole plan and ride away. 

The door opened, and you nearly fainted. Everything was starry and spinning as if someone had struck you across the head with a club. You blinked, lips frozen, and the meek servant girl who had opened the door greeted you quietly. She didn’t meet your eyes, and invited you in with a wide swoop of her arm. Hesitantly, you stepped over the threshold, and entered the house. You had an iron grip on your skirts. Dutch’s voice echoed through your mind as the yellow light engulfed you. 

**_It’ll be over before you know it. Just trust me, you have to trust me._**

You did. You trusted Dutch with your whole heart and with your whole soul, that man had taken you in and saved your life. He put food in your mouth and clothes on your back. He offered you a second chance and gave you a home. You owed it to him to give him your trust. But that didn’t make you any less afraid. You still didn’t know what to expect, or how you could get away from this clean. And what made you nervous most of all, was the fact that this would not be your first time. This wouldn’t be your first time using tricks and lying, or flaunting your youth or body to get money in your pocket. This wouldn’t be your first time walking right into the lion pit with the goal of coming out unscathed. 

It only made sense to you then why Arthur kept questioning you in the very beginning. Why Miss Grimshaw kept telling you that you had a choice, and that you were brave. Not everyone could handle the agonizing fear you felt. And not everyone could keep a straight face or steady tongue while doing it. It was hard. 

But you chose this. You’d made your bed, now you must lie in it, and learn to like the rest it gave you. Nightmares, and all. 

“Mr. Tanner has been expecting you. He’s in his study as of now, shall I escort you there?” 

You startled at the servant girl’s voice. It was sweet, and small, but not even the gentleness of her tone could calm you. Her face was round, and her skin was dark. Looking at her you remembered all the slanderous comments Douglas Tanner made about her people. About your mother’s people. It only added fuel to the fire. 

“Uh, escort me, please.” You thought the journey there wouldn’t be so daunting alone. 

“Follow me.” 

Everything was exactly as you remembered it. Douglas Tanner’s big fanciful house, with too much furniture to sit on and too many rooms to memorize. Yet somehow, everything looked twisted and strange. It had bile burning your tonsils and your hands trembling. The shadows cast by the yellow lights were long and eerie. Soon, the big rooms shrank down into a long hallway. The man’s face in the oil painting at the end of the hall haunted you. Chills ran down your spine. 

The servant girl stopped, and your toes nearly clipped her heels. You stepped away when she turned around, and you sought her face for any kind of feeling. 

There was none, and she simply nodded before walking back the way she came. 

You stared at the shining brass doorknob. Your mouth was dry as you swallowed. Fear was all you felt and your chin dimpled as your lips curled down into a scowl. You had to fight the tears that threatened to fall and ruin your makeup. You tried hard to focus on anything that might distract you, but the sound of trees frogs outside only made it worse. If you didn’t hurry and get on with this, you’ll fuck up the timing and ruin the whole plan. 

You took in a sharp breath, and pushed open the door. 

The room was dimly lit as you wandered inside. Around you, everything was the same. It still glowed red, the expensive lampshades tinting everything that hellish color. You were convinced the only reason Douglas Tanner had you come to this room, was to torture you. The memories it held made you feel sick. You closed the door behind you with a click. 

Douglas was sitting at his desk. 

“I didn’t think ya would show up,” he said. You nearly flinched when he rose from his seat, and before you could fully register what was happening, your back was against the door. Your mind was lagging with fear. 

“Of course I would,” you whispered. You could feel your pulse vibrating in your throat. You tried to coax your mind back to focus, but Douglas’s eyes made you ill. He smelt like cigar ashes and booze. “Y-You promised me pay.” 

Douglas stepped closer to you, until the bulge of his stomach flattened against you. The heat of his body seeped into yours. Sweat gathered beneath your corset despite the chill in your limbs. Over his shoulder, noticed the red curtains sway by the window. It was open. 

“Look at me, girl,” he growled. Douglas grabbed your jaw, and forced your head in place. You stared at him, mind racing. “Yes, that’s right. Yer awful perdy f’ bein’a whore.” 

You felt as if you had swallowed cotton. The way he looked at you scared you. It was the same way a cougar looked at its prey, all hungry and menacing. Each time you blinked you expected him to pounce, and devour you alive. You couldn’t let him know you were afraid. 

“Prettier than you deserve,” you growled. 

“Don’t be givin’ me any lip, girl. Or you ain’t gonna get a _thing_ ,” Douglas spat. His hand that was clamped around your jaw shook as he spoke, and you gripped at his fingers. His touch stung like hot iron. 

“Fine then,” you hissed. “Show me the money first. Then... we can do whatever you want.” 

Douglas’s thin, cracked lips curled up into a smile. He chuckled, his body quivering against yours. To your relief, his hand slipped from your neck and traveled into his right pants pocket. His left arm kept you caged in, his palm against the door. You entertained the idea of kicking his crotch. That could be done later. 

“You keep right there,” he said. Douglas drew his hand from his pocket, a little black key pinched between his fingers. His movements were slow as he raised it level with your shoulders, and you found yourself unable to look away from it. He pressed the key against your bare chest, and twisted it as if he were unlocking something. Your skin crawled. “‘Cause I don’t wanna hurt you yet.” 

If you hadn’t been so afraid, you could have swiped his pocket for that key and ran. You could have hidden away a knife and plunged the blade into his throat. A stream of ideas rushed through your mind, but none of them were Dutch’s. 

You nearly sighed when he pulled away from you, and began shuffling towards the back of the room. You watched him intently as he opened a cabinet, and pulled out a heavy black lockbox. He glanced over his shoulder at you as plugged in the key, and it opened with a click. 

“Tha’s right,” he said, “you know better than to run, mhmm. You know I could have the law on ya like flies. Hounds, too. You’d be dead ‘fore ya could leave the county.” 

You said nothing. You _felt_ nothing as he pulled out a stack of green cash. It was no consolation to you, like you thought it would be. It only meant you knew where it was before he could give it up. 

“There,” he grumbled, waving the money around. “You seen it now.” He threw the cash back in, and closed the box. He took out the key and put it down on a nearby table. 

“Pay me before.” 

“Oh, no no, missy,” Douglas scolded as he paced towards you. “That’s not how we do it ‘round here. I’ll consider lettin’ you be own lil’ concubine, but right now you’re my one-night whore. And I’ll pay you for the quality of yer work, you hearin’ me?” 

“Yes,” you answered. 

“Good. Now, you just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, or I won’t keep my end of the deal.” 

You nodded. You sucked in your bottom lip, not caring if your lipstick smudged or stained your teeth. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides until they ached, and your chest bubbled with the urge to scream. Douglas Tanner leaned in, his breath humid against your neck. When his lips began mauling at your throat, you flinched hard and winced. It felt like earthworms trying to dig into your skin, slimy and warm and relentless. His hands found your hips and he ran them up and down your sides, along your stomach. 

“Oh, don’t be so rigid,” he purred, “at least act like you like it.” 

“A _dog_ would do better,” you snarled. You almost threw up when he pulled away. 

“What the **fuck** did I say?” he barked, reaching up to grab you by the throat. His fat fingers buried themselves deep into your clammy skin. You clawed at him, gasping. He brought his other hand up and slapped you hard across the face. 

“L-Let go!” You wheezed. Pressure began building in your head, face slowly growing dim. The panic that wound up in you made it even harder to breathe. Your cheek prickled and burned, and a tear caught in your eye. 

“You gonna behave, child?” he asked, flecks of spit hitting your face. His death grip on your throat made it impossible to nod. 

“Yes,” you choked. He released you, and you slumped against the door, panting. An ache throbbed in your esophagus as breath passed through. Douglas chuckled darkly, then pushed you down onto your knees. 

He could kill you. You knew he could. There were about a million ways to kill _him_ in this room alone, but you were paralyzed. The sound of his belt buckle ringing as he pulled it loose had you frozen. A whirlwind of emotions ripped through you; you were angry, disgusted, hopeless, and afraid all at once. You kept your wet eyes on the floor. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see Douglas Tanner’s face or whatever he was about to show you. 

From behind the door, you heard tapping. Dull thumping. Footsteps. Immediately, you knew. _It’ll be over before you know it. Just trust me. You have to trust me._

You fell forward onto your hands and scrambled to your right, just in time for the door to swing open. 

You’d recognize that gun and golden ring anywhere. 

Douglas Tanner stumbled backwards, nearly tripping as the pistol’s barrel met his forehead. Dutch came waltzing in, his steps all drama and flair. Relief flooded over you when Hosea and Arthur stepped in behind him. They were all dressed in black and their faces were hard. Dutch kept his gun trained to Douglas’s head. Hosea shut the door. 

“ _G-Gentleman_ ,” the preacher began. He raised one hand above his head while the other clutched his pants. “I-I- this isn’t what you think it is, I-I swear-” 

“We know exactly what this is, don’t try to lie,” Dutch growled. His voice was cold, stone cold, and it made you shiver. “We know all about your sick game, Mr. Tanner.” 

Arthur’s eyes caught yours as Dutch spoke. A pained expression crossed his face and in three steps, he was in front of you, kneeling down to help you up. You held onto him desperately, knees weak as he grabbed you. His arm was secure around your waist, and you gripped the folds of his black shirt. Your heart pounded. Arthur’s gun glinted in the low light of the room. 

“Surely this all a mistake,” Douglas said. His voice trembled, and sweat began to form along his crown. His eyes flashed nervously. “I’m a man of God, I-I haven’t done nothin’ wrong!” 

Hosea stepped forward swiftly. He was smaller than Dutch, nowhere near as burly as Arthur, but the hard set to his jaw and the imposing sway of his shoulders was enough to make a full grown man piss himself. He drew out a rope, and Dutch kicked Douglas back. The fat man fell hard to the ground, and Hosea quickly began tying his arms back. 

“Ain’t no man gonna take money under the name of God for his own leisure,” Hosea said. He rose after securing the knot. “And ain’t no man gonna see the pearly gates after trying to rape a girl!” 

Your heart lurched. Your mind was still buzzing with the fast pace of everything that had happened. Arthur’s presence was the only thing keeping you from fainting. Your body trembled. 

_“What?”_ Douglas growled. His cheek was against the floor. “Untie me now! This is unjust! I have done no wrong! Let me go now!” 

“All the money is in that box,” you said. The words came out quick and uneasy. Everyone’s gaze followed your arm as you pointed. “The key’s on the table.” 

“Oh, you **bitch!** ” Douglas roared. You flinched, and Arthur aimed his gun at the man. You tucked yourself further into him in hopes to find more comfort. Dutch pushed the heel of his boot into Douglas’s ear. 

“I won’t hesitate to kill you, Mr. Tanner. If another word comes out of your mouth about that lovely young lady, I will put a bullet in that little brain of yours. Dear Mr. Clark, would you please go fetch the money? I think I’m about to be ill if I stay here any longer,” Dutch said. 

“Fuck you!” Douglas shouted. His face was getting redder and redder by the minute, the veins bulging on his shiny bald forehead. “That’s my money! You goddamn thieves! You’re gonna burn in hell, you fuckin’ carpetbaggers!” 

“I trust we’ll be seeing you there, Mr. Tanner.” 

“Goddamn!” Hosea said. Your focus shifted to him as he flipped through the several stacks of cash from the lockbox. “There’s got to be almost three thousand dollars here!” 

“Get your filthy hands of my money- argh!” Douglas winced when Dutch rolled his heel. 

“Holy shit,” Arthur breathed. 

“My, my,” Dutch cooed, his lips curling into a wide grin. He lifted his foot and moved over to Hosea, who showed him the money with raised brows. “It seems we’ve struck gold.” 

“You’ll never leave Arkansas alive!” Douglas squealed. His voice went shrill and he sounded like a pig. “I’ll get the law on you! I’ll have you killed before you could even step foot out of Potsdam! Ooh, I’ll have the whole goddamn United States after your asses!” 

Dutch’s face darkened. He reached Douglas again in two paces, and knelt down by his head. He pulled the hammer of his gun back and put it right against the man’s temple. 

“You tell a soul and I will make sure not a damn soul remembers your name. I will have you sent straight to hell where you belong, without hesitation. And don’t think I won’t know, sir, because I always know. If I even get the feelin’ you uttered my name aloud I will find you and kill you in the most painful of ways. Keep quiet, and I won’t do nothin’. You hear me?” 

“I ain’t gotta listen to a damn word you say!” 

Dutch sighed. He stood back up and motioned to Arthur. 

“My dear boy, could you please give Mr. Tanner a lesson? I’m afraid he’s not understanding.” he said. 

In no time at all, Arthur had left your side and rolled Douglas over. You screwed your eyes shut when the man who was tenderly holding you seconds ago, began beating a preacher’s face in with just his fist. The sounds of wailing and cracking made you sick. The familiar warmth of Hosea engulfed you, and his hand guided you to the crook of his neck. You began to sob into the collar of his shirt. 

“You smartened up yet?” you heard Arthur growl. It was answered with only a groan. The beating resumed for what felt like minutes before Douglas began crying. 

“That’s enough,” Dutch said. “I say he’s passed the test, don’t you think?” 

“Traitors,” Douglas mumbled. His voice was faded and weak. “Liars!” 

“Oh, be nice,” Dutch said. “We were kind enough to spare you after what you put that girl through.” 

“Let me go,” the man wheezed. “I-I... please! I won’t-I won’t tell anyone. Just- let me go! Let me go, please.” 

“Are you gonna keep your word, Mr. Tanner?” 

_“Yes.”_

“Do you remember what I said would happen if you didn’t?” 

“Y-Yes.” 

“Good.” Dutch straightened up and began looking around the room. “You don’t mind if we do some browsing around, do you? You’ve got the quite the nice place.” 

Douglas said nothing. Over the sound of your crying, you heard him struggling for breath. Hosea’s hand gently brushed over the loose hairs at the nape of your neck. 

As Dutch and Arthur began raiding the room, you lifted your head to look at Douglas as he lie on the floor. His face was swollen and purpled, eyes fat and sealed shut. His lip and nose were streaked red with blood, and his cheeks were bruised. He looked pathetic with his arms tucked beneath him. His pants were down to his knees and you wanted to cut his dick off. You began to sob louder and openly out of rage. Before Dutch cut him free, you spat on Douglas Tanner’s face. 

* * *

Beneath the trees, Miss Grimshaw greeted you with a long, black iron barrel. She had always been good with a shotgun. She was keeping watch while everyone else was doing their duties. Dutch pushed the gun’s nose down when he got close enough.

“You can put that thing away,” he said. “For now, at least.” 

“We bein’ followed?” 

“No. But I don’t trust him enough not to send someone, even after we nearly beat his damn face in.” 

“What did you get?” 

“Money. Near three thousand. That’s almost enough to get us across the country- I’ll dish everything out later. But right now, we need to get back to camp. Y/N- Y/N isn’t well, and sticking around isn’t doing her any favors.” 

You couldn’t see much of anything. It was dark, and the sagging limbs of the massive willow tree blotted out all the light from the stars. You felt their tendrils brush against your arms. It made you coil into yourself; every little creepy feeling mimicked the sensation of Douglas touching you. A cold chill shook your bones. 

The sudden grip of hands on your shoulders startled you. You stepped back into Arthur, who gently settled his hand on your waist out of reflex. He was holding Moonshine’s reins in the other hand. You blinked, straining hard to see who was in front of you. 

“Did that rotten man touch you? Did he hurt you?” The shrill tone of Miss Grimshaw’s voice gave it away. You stalled, swallowing dryly. It felt like Douglas’s hand was still around your throat. 

“I-I’m fine,” you stuttered. 

“I’ll kill him. I will, nobody touches my little girl-” Miss Grimshaw stopped herself, her jaw snapping shut. You couldn’t see a damn thing, but you could feel the waves of anger roll off her and picture the look on her face. Her hands softly squeezed your shoulders. 

“I should have,” Arthur joined. The vibration of his voice tickled your spine. His fingers twitched. “I don’t know why I fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“Enough, Arthur,” Hosea said. “Call your horses, come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

A series of sharp whistles rang through the air, and soon, the sound of hooves followed. Arthur led you out from underneath the weeping willow, and immediately, everything was bathed in dim light. The sky was clear, free of a single cloud, the stars on full display. The moon was a thin crescent. For a moment, you just stood and stared. It was like you were seeing the sky for the first time after spending weeks lost in a cave. Tears gathered in your eyes as you realized you were free. Free from the burden of ever having to see that wicked man again. You made it through the needle’s eye. A sob slipped from your mouth. Ahead of you, Dutch, Hosea, and Susan moved forward, waiting for their horses to come running up through the field. Arthur paused, and you missed the way he studied your face. 

“Y/N,” he whispered. You turned towards him, eyes stinging. He was lit up in soft whites and blues and grays, hair shifting slightly in the breeze. Your breath caught. 

A broken smile twisted his face in a sad way. Your chest tightened, and he raised his hand slowly. His eyes were focused entirely on you. It seemed like every time you looked at him, you saw something new. Rarely ever did you capture sadness on him, he was always too tough and young for that. The rough pad of his thumb landed on your chin. 

It was a soft touch. His hand was warm. You found yourself craving it, and the comfort of it. It was so vastly different than the way Douglas touched you. You found ourself reaching up to grab his wrist just to feel a little more of him. His head tilted. 

“You’ve got... lipstick, all over your chin,” Arthur said. His voice was almost flat, but full of the same breath a whisper carried. He swiped at the skin just below your lip, back and forth. You let out a shaky sigh, and it blew down his hand and beneath the cuff of his sleeve. 

He stopped for a second, eyes flickering from your lips, to your hand, to your eyes. They traced the curve of your cheek, and his fingers followed. You winced when they brushed over the tender skin, and he pulled away abruptly. Arthur slipped from your grasp. You watched him for a moment as his face shifted into something grim. 

“Y/N,” he whispered again. “What did he... what did he do to you?” 

You took a step forward, reaching for his hands. Your fingers couldn’t fully encompass the circumference of his wrists, and it reminded you of how big he really was. Or, how little you actually were. Your chin dimpled with oncoming tears, and you pulled him towards you. He complied easily. 

“Arthur,” you whispered, “he... I- He-!” 

You collapsed into him, and sobbed hysterically. Immediately, Arthur wrapped his arms around you. One hand soothingly rubbed your back, and the other, abandoning his hold of your horse, cupped the back of your head. Arthur pressed his lips to your forehead and gently rocked you side to side. 

It felt good to cry, and it felt good to be held by him. He was bad at apologizing, he was bad at using his words, especially when it came to tender comfort like this, but a single touch said more than his tongue ever could. It was all you needed in that moment. 

“C’mon!” Hosea’s shout broke the scene. You begrudgingly pulled away from Arthur, and the silhouette of his horse was strong against the light. Arthur hoisted you up onto Moonshine, then mounted his own steed. You continued to cry into the wind you rode hard across the field. It was all thunder and heartache as the horse’s tore up the ground beneath them. 

* * *

The little flame in your oil lamp flickered. The orange glow wavered and trembled, making the shadows on your canvas walls shift. It was late now, having been back at camp for a few hours. Your mind was restless. Arthur sat beside you.

Miss Grimshaw helped you out of your clothes and let your hair down upon returning. She brushed all the pomade and tangles and forced curls from it behind the doors of your tent. Her face was thin and eyes were bleary as she worked, and you could tell something was on her mind. You were too tired to ask. It felt like there were holes in your guts. 

“You’re so brave,” she had said. It was a familiar comment, something she had said once years ago. But it sounded different now, and maybe it meant something different now, too. It was hard to tell, because she left at it that, then wished you goodnight. 

Dutch and Hosea has sat with you for a while. Dutch did a lot of talking, but you couldn’t remember anything he said. You just know his face was fiery and his hands were warm. Hosea patted your head and left with a mouthful of words unsaid. You didn’t want to see them go. The solitude and silence was too much. 

Then Arthur slipped in, his clothes still on but his hat missing from his head. He looked shy, his head low, but eyes wide and aware. Wordlessly, you invited him onto your cot. He sat beside you without hesitation. Seeing him in this light reminded you of another time. The nostalgia was comforting. 

“I know that he hurt you,” Arthur said, breaking the spell of silence. 

You shrugged and looked to the ground. “I should have expected it.” 

“I didn’t want you to.” 

Your forehead tightened with confusion, and he sensed it. 

“What I mean is... I-I didn’t want you walking into that house alone. It tore me up. And then when I saw you on the floor, and his- his pants were undone- Y/N, please tell me. Did he-” 

“No,” you interrupted. “He didn’t. You came in before anything really happened.” 

“He didn’t put his hands on you did he?” 

“No, not- not really. I, I don’t know h-how to say it, Arthur. I’m not- he didn’t...” 

Arthur turned his body towards you, his knee meeting yours. The little touch made you look up, and the intensity in his stare made you sweat. 

“It don't matter if you don’t know the right words to say it, just tell me,” he said. 

“Why do you want to know..?” 

“‘Cause I ain’t gonna rest without knowing what happened!” 

You scoffed, despite your mood and the situation. A lifeless smile caught the corner of your lip. “You always been one to worry.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Fine,” You huffed. Your shoulders slumped, and you began to decay from the inside out. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as the memory of what happened resurfaced, all too real and too soon. “He- He put his hands on my sides, a-and he... put his mouth on my neck.” 

At the mention of it, his eyes drifted down towards your throat. They stayed there, fixated on it, and self-consciously, you brought your hand up to cover it. It was tender and sore. 

“He try to strangle you?” Arthur asked. It was blunt and plain. You blinked. 

“Yes,” you admitted. You didn’t want to say it, but the words came right out. “He choked me. And... and he... slapped me.” 

Arthur only stared. His face was stripped of any emotion. It was eerie, the way he looked right through you like you just some sort of hallucination. The blue of his eyes faded. Fear funneled down your lungs and you grabbed at his hands. 

“But I’m fine, Arthur. I-I’m fine, I promise. He didn’t- didn’t _rape_ me. I’m fine, Arthur, see?” 

He finally moved, blinking as he pulled away. He shook his head, slipping his hands from yours to rub his face. A heavy sigh left him. 

“No, you’re not,” he hissed. “Y/N, he laid his hands on you. We let you walk in there knowing his intentions. Tell me you’re fine all you want, but for God’s sake, at least admit you’re lyin’.” 

Your fingers floated to his knee. His eyes flickered down to your hands, but only for a moment. You gathered a deep breath before speaking. Fatigue suddenly hit you like a train. You could only manage to sigh out his name. 

Arthur’s jaw clamped shut, so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter like glass. His brow knit together as he closed his eyes. Quickly, you reached for hand again. He broke when your touch found him. The angry tension vanished and he just looked sad now. His calloused fingers folded over yours. 

“I said-.... I said I wasn’t-” 

“I know what you said,” you interrupted. Your voice was soft once you found it. “I know. I think I’ve said before that you can’t be there with me all the time. I- I hated what happened, I hated being there, and I hate him, but I- I gotta learn. I can’t be some baby no more. I wished you were there with me, I did, but I knew that couldn’t happen. This ain’t on you. It’s on me and Douglas.” 

“It ain’t your fault.” 

“Maybe. But its not yours, Arthur. Quit actin’ like it is... I-I... It’s over. It’s done now.” 

He nodded. His solemn expression let you know he was done arguing. You were both tired, adrenaline having faded and nerves running thin. Your heart didn’t even have the energy to spike when Arthur brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. A calm, warm feeling only soothingly bled out into you. Your neck gave up holding the weight of your heavy head, and it fell onto Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Best y’get some some rest,” he mumbled. He moved to get up, but before he could leave your cot, you coiled your arms around his. 

_“Stay,”_ you whispered. “Please, don’t leave me here alone tonight.” 

Arthur relaxed back onto your bed. His arm escaped your hold, only to wrap around your shoulder. The plea reminded him of another time, long ago, it seemed. 

“I ain’t goin’ no where,” he said. “I’ll stay.”


	30. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur spends the morning with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!! Another slow update :/ Work has been eating me up and life’s been kinda rough lately but we’re getting through it!! Thank you for sticking around. Here’s some fluff after all that, plz enjoy!

_*June 23, 1882*_

The swaying canvas walls of the tent looked slate blue in the pale light of early morning. Distant chirping of birds sounded like muffled porcelain bells, carried along by a hot summer breeze. It was stuffy, and far too warm for comfort, but Arthur didn’t move. The buttons of his shirt were undone to his belt buckle, handkerchief abandoned, but he endured otherwise. 

Each time he blinked he felt the cool hands of sleep try to hold his eyelids shut, but his mind kept working like a train engine. He couldn’t rest. Nothing would let his body give in to exhaustion, no matter how hard he tried. He counted sheep, he made up stories, he tried to remember the lullaby his mother had sang- it was all fruitless. As long as you were tucked into his side, he couldn’t sleep. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t a comfort. You were the greatest source of comfort to him, that he could not deny. He couldn’t quite identify what was keeping him awake. Most nights, it was nightmares or paranoia, sometimes the feeling of guilt or hopelessness. Maybe what he was feeling was something like that; it wasn’t foreign to him but it didn’t have a name. He sighed, the breath feeling good as it stretched his lungs. Arthur looked over at you. 

You were asleep. You had been for hours now. Your eyes were closed, delicate eyelashes settled down gently atop your cheeks. Dark hair spiraled and tangled around your head like a mess of black straw, and though it was uncombed it looked soft and shiny in the low lighting. Your lips were parted slightly, just enough to let the air in. You looked so peaceful, and young, as you slept. It reminded Arthur of years ago, when he’d catch that playful youth and innocence in you still. His brow pinched in discontent as he realized he hadn’t seen you look happy in a long, long time. 

His eyes traveled down the line of your nose, the curve of your lips, and the drop of your chin. His gaze settled on your throat. A ring of faint bruises looped around your neck, and Arthur frowned. 

The image of Douglas’s swollen hand choking you made his blood boil. He wished no pain upon you; he remembered what you had said last night. _“I wished you were there with me, I did, but I knew that couldn’t happen. This ain’t on you. It’s on me and Douglas.”_

Your face was clear in his mind. Eyes wide and watery, red-rimmed and defeated. There was desperate sincerity in your voice as you spoke, and it made his chest feel tight and mouth dry. He remembered the smoothness of your knuckles against his lips, and the familiar weight of your head on his shoulder. That wickedness that lived so strongly in him flared- his fingers twitched to put a bullet in Douglas Tanner. 

You stirred. You rolled on your side just enough to press into his chest. Your legs were up against his, your hands curled into your bosom. The white fabric of your nightgown was gathered at your knees. He felt your soft breaths on his skin. 

All malicious thought left him as he looked you over once again. Angel, was the first word that came to mind, though he wasn’t religious and didn’t know really know God past his name. But he knew from paintings and stained glass that angels were beautiful. His heart skipped a beat, and he almost smiled. 

He remembered again another time, the first night you had gotten drunk. You had really made his stomach flutter and fly, and when you climbed on top of him, lips so close to touching- there was an undeniable feeling of need and belonging and good inside of him. Ever since that moment he never saw you quite the same. It felt like there was something unspoken there between the two of you, when you were both alone together. 

But he had Mary. She was so gentle, and had not a foul mouth or rough tongue, and walked with grace and was always easy to smile. Her face was sweet and pretty like all the model girls in advertisement illustrations, and paintings. She was docile and polite, unlike any lady he’d ever known. His heart should lie with her. 

It just didn’t feel the same. 

He hadn’t seen much of you since arriving in Potsdam. He was always with Mary Gillis, or picking fights at the bar, or trying to rob someone for their money. And you had been so busy with Moonshine, Silas, and chores. It used to be you couldn’t get one without the other; wherever Arthur was, you were only a step behind, and vice versa. It seems it had changed. That a lot had changed. And maybe there was still a lot more to come. 

“Arthur.” 

The whisper was soft and slow but it had him startled anyway. Arthur’s gaze shot up to your eyes and his heart warmed. The darkness of your eyes was gentle, glossy, and bleary from sleep. Seeing you wake up was the equivalent of watching the sun rise. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. There was a croak to his voice. 

“Good morning.” 

“G’mornin’.” 

“You... you stayed.” 

“I did.” 

For a moment, you just looked up at Arthur, your head gently rising and falling on his chest as he breathed. He found himself unable to look away. He wanted this. 

A little smile broke the seriousness of your face. “Thank you.” 

“What’re you always thankin’ me for? I... I didn’t do anythin’ to deserve it.” 

“Don’t be silly, Arthur Morgan,” you said. His name sounded heavenly coming from your lips. “You’ve done plenty.” 

“I ain’t, really. Haven’t been around much, it seems.” 

“...I suppose you’re right. I can’t remember the last time I stayed in camp all day... or spent it with you, really. Unless- you had plans...” 

“No,” he said quickly, “I figure we can... visit, er- you know.” 

A flicker of a grin graced your sleepy face. “I do know. This... I- never mind.” 

“Hm?” 

“I shouldn’t say.” You sit up, and Arthur almost frowns as you pull away from him. The cozy space that you became was no longer there, and it prompted him to lean up on his side. The cot squeaked as he moved. 

“Why not? You usually don’t think twice ‘bout openin’ your mouth.” 

You pull nervously at the frills of your nightgown’s sleeve. Sweat gathered at your fingertips and the heat of the room hits you all at once. 

“Well, now I’m thinkin’ twice.” 

Arthur scoffs. He should have expected you to say that. 

“Fine, then. Keep your secrets.” 

“I think I will.” 

Arthur watches the back of your head as you sit in front of him. Your hair had grown long, so long, it reached the middle of your back. Without even thinking, he reached out and combed his fingers through a loose knot at the ends of your hair. You stiffened for a moment, and he pulled away slowly without saying anything. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “After... after last night?” 

“Yes,” you answered after a pause, “I do. Much better. I’m glad I’ll never have to go back there and see his face again.” 

“Me too,” Arthur said. “Though, I wouldn’t mind visiting just to fuckin’-” 

_“Arthur,”_ you breathed. It was a soft, scolding tone and it had him going quiet. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“It’s fine,” you said simply. “I’m gettin’ a little stuffy. I’m thinkin’ I might get dressed, if you don’t mind.” 

Arthur’s cheeks warmed, and he quickly found his way to his feet. You blinked up at him with those doe eyes and his heart soared. He couldn’t help but think briefly of you undressing, and it made something in him stir. 

“Of course,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll... leave you to it.” 

* * *

A pair of deep brown eyes peered at him from over the water, blinking through a curtain of long, dark hair. It looked like seaweed in the green of the water, floating on the surface languidly. Arthur was pulled in towards you, sucked in by your stare. 

A morning spent swimming wasn’t what he had expected. After dressing, you had asked him to go to the pond with you; who was he to tell you no when you asked so sweetly? So, despite the tired ache in his muscles and the heavy exhaustion that weighed down his eyelids, he climbed up onto his horse and rode on. You kept close on Moonshine, who seemed to be doing better. It was quiet all the way there, no one talking, only the wilderness singing. The pond looked like a flat jade stone as the sun made it sparkle. 

After hitching the horses, your clothes dropped, and Arthur’s heart stopped. It wasn’t his first time seeing you in just a chemise and bloomers, but this time it was different. He couldn’t tell if that different was good or bad, but his uncertainty did not stop him from admiring the way the hue of skin was visible through the thin white fabric. The nakedness of your shoulders and calves made him choke, and he couldn’t look away from the curve of your hips or chest. He was hesitant when it came to taking off his own clothes- your beauty had effected him in ways he’d rather not admit. 

But you stepped into the cool water, through the algae and weeds, without so much as a word. When you looked back at him, he felt himself reaching up to unbutton his shirt without even thinking. It was strange, confusing, and terrible in the most pleasant of ways. 

The sandy silt at the bottom of the pond squished between his bare toes. Plants tickled his ankles and swam around his legs, but that was the least of his concerns. He watched as your fingers broke the water’s surface to part the mask that was your hair. 

“Y/N,” he said, voice cracking. “Careful. There might be snakes.” 

You rose, the murky water dripping from your smiling lips. 

“That hasn’t stopped _you_ so far.” 

“I just want you to be safe, so I don’t have to go haulin’ your corpse back to camp.” 

“Stop worrying.” 

The water reached his chest. Your head bobbed just above the surface. In the glint of the morning sun, he swear he saw a halo. Arthur swallowed air. 

“What were you going to tell me?” 

“Huh?” Swirls of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. 

“Back in camp,” he said, “In your tent. You almost said it.” 

“That’s a secret, Arthur,” you replied. Your voice was flat. Arthur pushed off into the deep middle of the pond, his feet leaving the mud at the bottom. He was following you the further you went. 

“I don’t want no secrets.” 

“Then why you askin’?” 

“Because I- you know what I meant.” 

“No, I don’t. Tell me, please?” 

“Quit stalling.” 

“I’m not,” you said. You leaned back into the water, arms outstretched as your torso began to float. Your ears were submerged, and your eyes closed. Arthur’s eyes wander over your chest. The bosom of your chemise was soaked now, leaving very little to the imagination. He let himself stare. 

“Yes, you are,” he grunted, after a pause. He reached for your arm, and you jolted, surprised. For a second, you went under completely, and Arthur nearly screamed. But you came back up, gasping in a breath. Dark hair covered your face. 

“Arthur,” you hissed. There was anger in your tone, but you swam towards him anyway. You caught his wrist, and he kicked hard to stay above water as you cling to him. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled. Once again, you cleared your vision and gave him a cold look. 

“You’re a dumbass.” 

The insult brought back another memory. Of Texas, years past. River water and liquor, dirty clothes and apologizes. A kiss on his cheek. Everyone was always sorry for something. Especially you. Especially him. 

“You tell me everyday,” Arthur said, breath suddenly hard to find. 

“I just love reminding you.” 

“I know.” 

You dipped your head back, the bruised column of your throat exposed. A sigh escaped you, and you slipped from Arthur’s hold. His fingers trailed after yours. 

“I love the water,” you told him, airy and light. You began to swim in slow, backwards circles. “It’s so... good. It’s refreshing and beautiful- and it’s vital. But at the same time, it’ll kill you-” 

“-Just as quick as it saves you.” 

You straightened out, chin grazing the surface of the pond as you stare at Arthur in surprise. Your mouth fell open, eyes wide. He smiled a little. 

“How’d you know what I was gonna say?” you asked. 

“You’ve told me before,” Arthur replied. “When you were drunk.” 

“When I was drunk? Oh, my god, how can you remember that far back? I don’t even know what all happened.” You spoke faster and faster, worry present in your tone. Why were you worrying? 

“It was only a month ago,” he answered casually. “I’ve got a good memory. I couldn’t forget that night if I wanted to.” 

You turned away from him, looking bashful. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Why?” he asked, a near-smile on his lips. He remembered the almost-kiss, did you? 

“Makes me think I told you something you shouldn’t have known.” 

Arthur blinked a few times, confused. “Like what?” 

“Why would I tell you now?” 

“‘Cause maybe I already know.” 

“If you knew, you wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“Really?” Arthur tested. His brow sank down low over his eyes and he was beginning to feel a little upset. “Nothin’ would stop me from bein’ with you.” 

“That’s already been happening. You know. You even talked about it.” 

“Huh?” 

“Mary.” 

Mary. Oh, Miss Mary Gillis. He had forgotten about her for awhile. The mention of her had him feeling guilty, but he couldn’t tell why or what for. 

“She’s... she’s not takin’ me away from you,” Arthur said. He sounded like he couldn’t believe himself. 

“You say that,” you mumble, “but she is. You love her. You loved her in just four months. You’re gonna settle down, Arthur. Or at least marry her and run off. No man wants to be unwed forever.” 

“Neither does any woman,” Arthur said quickly. It was dumb and too rushed. 

“And that’s why you’ll marry her.” 

“Don’t you wanna get married?” 

“...I don’t know,” you answered. There was a sadness to your voice that wasn’t there before and your eyes looked at everything but him. “I-... I don’t think I ever will.” 

“I asked if you wanted to get married, not for your future.” 

“Sure,” you flustered, “that'd.. be nice, I suppose. To... have a... husband.” 

Arthur nodded. Something in him dropped, and had a hard time accepting that the reason for it was because of what you said. The idea of you married off to someone irked him. It wasn’t right. 

“Well, then,” he growled, “I hope you find a man.” 

There was nothing else said for several minutes on end. The only sound was rippling water as bodies swam, and the soft rustle of tree limbs and bushes. Birds continues their songs and a few other creatures bickered in the distance. Frogs chirped and clicked, an endless piercing sound. 

You avoided his gaze, but Arthur couldn’t look away from you. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes were always led back to you. You were beautiful, he thought. Beautiful in your soaked chemise and wet hair, in dirty jeans and a work shirt, in a plain skirt and a simple braid. You were beautiful when you laughed and smiled, and cursed and spit and used a gun. You were beautiful when you swam, and when you sewed and ran and walked, and talked. You were so goddamn beautiful to him, and so goddamn important. You made him feel better, and whole, like he couldn’t ever be alone. And it confused the hell out of him, because he swore he loved someone else, but you made him feel different. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he tried to ignore the flames in his chest. 

“I missed you Arthur,” you said. Your voice carried over the water as you spoke. You still didn’t look at him. “I... I like having you in my bed. I sleep better when you’re beside me. That was my secret.” 

“Me too,” Arthur said, despite having not slept a wink last night. “Me too.” 

Yes, he decided, you were an angel. A devil could not live in you, Satan could not take away the purity of your person. He wasn’t a religious man, he didn’t even pray. But God had given him one of the greatest gifts a man could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor boy is confused


	31. Loudly, Like A Thief In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes you out to rob your first homestead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all!! Long time no update, I know I know. I’m terribly sorry at how late this chapter is! It was hard to write. And if you don’t have a life, holy shit don’t ever get one. You’ll regret it. More to come! SOON!

_*August 14, 1882*_

“Whatcha doin’?” 

“Reading.” 

“Ya busy?” 

“What does it look like, dumbass?” 

“I dunno, you don’t look too busy to me.” 

“Goddamn,” you grumbled, “the hell you want?” 

“Rob a homestead with me.” 

You looked up from your letter with a dropped jaw. Arthur was staring back at you with a hint of a smile on his face, eyes shining. Your bitterness was lost. 

“Rob as in rob?” you asked, hushed and quick. 

“Yes,” Arthur answered, “Rob as in _rob_.” 

A warm breeze rolled through and tousled his recently cropped hair. Hot air pushed over your face and once again you were reminded of the heat. With a sweaty hand, you plucked your shirt from your skin and shook your head. 

“I dunno, Arthur,” you said, voice soft on a breath. “I never done somethin’ like that before, I-I- I wouldn’t do ya any good.” 

He chuckled a little, a heavy hand landing on your knee. You watched as his fingers curled slightly around the joint, his palm hot through the denim of your grubby jeans. With a mouthful of air, your eyes shot back up to his. There was a smile on his sunburnt face. 

“What happened to your eager spirit?” Arthur asked. He leaned forward, and the breeze caught his half-unbuttoned striped shirt. His strong chest was matted with with short curls and shined with sweat. “You use t’ try ‘nd argue about bein’ a ‘justified crook’!” 

You glanced down at the letter in your hand shyly. Arthur’s comment was meant to be lighthearted, but it had a part of you reeling. Ever since the mess that happened in Potsdam, you had closed up some to what you were once so passionate about. You brushed over the signature at the bottom of the page with your thumb. _Yours, Silas Kidd._

“I know,” you mumbled, “I just- I dunno.” 

“Listen,” Arthur said, “I’ve already got a plan all worked out. All you gotta do, is do as I tell ya, simple. An in and out job, promise.” 

“I- _Arthur._ I don’t know nothin’!” 

“Don’t make yourself out to be so stupid, Y/N,” he snipped. “You ain’t so dumb, you learn quick. You got fast hands and a sharp eye- you’ll do just fine. B’sides, you gotta learn how to do these things anyways. And seein’ as I’ve been the only one teachin’ you shit, might as well take you along.” 

You begun to fold the letter in halves until it was just a square of parchment. You couldn’t look away from the dry grass between your boots as you tried to swallow down the lump in your throat. Arthur’s proposition scared you, no doubt. The biggest heist you’ve ever done was with Douglas, and you ruined that, in a way. Sure, you’ve heard tales of house robbing from Hosea, Dutch, and even Arthur, but hearing was much different than doing. But you knew, despite your fear, that if you really wanted to contribute to this little, tiny gang, you’d need to rake in more money than a few dollars here and there. 

“Tell me your plan first,” you said, “before I make my decision.” 

“You don’t trust my ideas?” 

You smiled a little against your will, and met his eyes for a moment. There was nothing but humor in his face and briefly, you wondered what had him in such a good mood. 

“Not always,” You quipped, “not all of them are bright. Oh, don’t you remember? The bees?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” he groaned as he leaned away from you, “That was years ago!” 

“It was still your idea,” you laughed. Even though Arthur was sometimes quick to dampen your mood, he could just as easily lift you up. Your smile lingered as he waved you off with one hand and wiped the sweat from his face with the other. 

“Ahh, shut up and let me tell me the plan like you wanted.” 

“Alright, then.” 

Arthur shifted on the log he was sitting on, hunched over to put his elbows on his knees. He stared at his hands with focused eyes and you watched his profile. That smile is still on your face; he was so handsome, even if he was half-roasted and peeling like an onion. 

“Okay,” he began, voice firm, “There’s a little farm just down the way some, a few miles east of town along New Paige Creek. It’s owned by a family, the Martins, I think, and they recently acquired some inheritance from their late uncle. And accordin’ to the feller I met at the saloon, their uncle was some real big wig with a lot of money.” 

“You trust the word of someone you met at the saloon?” you asked, eyes wide. 

“Well, sure,” Arthur replied. He set his gaze on you and talked with his hands. “People start talkin’ when they get to drinkin’.” 

“And you tell me not to be so trustin’.” 

“This is a bit different. I rode by the place earlier and it feels promisin’.” 

“Fine then. Continue with your plan.” 

“There’s two ways we can go about this,” Arthur resumed. He snapped right back into that same strong voice, and you could tell he really thought this through. He was smarter than he liked to let on. “We can wait until night, or until they leave, and find a way to sneak in and search the house while they’re sleepin’. Thing ‘bout that is, we’d have to be real quick and real quiet, and make sure everything looked untouched. The second option I’ve figured up is to take our guns and masks and rob ‘em that way. Ain’t nobody gonna say no to a gun.” 

That’s when your stomach dropped. It was like you had swallowed a handful of worms when Arthur mentioned the word “gun”. The memory of black boots, long coats, and polished rifles resurfaced quickly and took over your mind each time you blinked. You remembered the three graves in your front yard, the sound of a bullet busting bone and your brother’s head split open like a melon. Your fingers went numb and chest felt tight- you’d never threaten someone innocent out of their house for their money. 

“Y/N?” 

A touch on the arm made you jump, and you were brought back to reality. You cleared yourself from the fog of trauma and tried to focus onto Arthur’s light eyes. 

“You ain’t usin’ a gun for shit,” you said, slow and dark. 

Confused by your sudden change in demeanor, he blinked and pulled away. “Why?” he asked. 

“I don’t got any desire to scare an innocent family into givin’ me their money,” you answered. 

“Is stealin’ while they’re not lookin’ any better?” 

“Yes,” you hissed, “I believe it is. They didn’t do nothin’ wrong and they just lost a loved one. If they’re gonna get robbed, at least let it be peacefully.” 

“Alright then,” Arthur said. He flashed his wide palms at you, signaling apology, before slapping them down onto his knees and standing. “Then we’ll find a way to sneak in. I say we wait ‘til after supper ‘fore we decide to head out. Give us some time to prepare. What’chu think?” 

“Fine by me,” you mumbled. You tried to shake the cold grip of your family’s memory. “I gotta write a letter anyway.” 

At the mention of it, Arthur looked to the folded up paper in your hand. He nodded slightly, head tilted as he considered it like he was reading right through the page. You squirmed, embarrassed of it, and tucked the letter into your pocket. 

“You writin’ back to that?” he asked, pointing to where it was. 

“Yes,” you answered. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“Who do you think?” you snapped. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so defensive, or shy, but it made your attitude sour again. “It’s from Silas.” 

Arthur’s brow twitched, and he cocked his jaw. He planted on foot up on the log where was sitting and leaned over his knee. You watched him chew on the words in his mouth until he finally spat something out. “What’s he want?” 

“He’s telling me ‘bout a house he’s leasing,” you replied. You didn’t want to tell Arthur, but you did anyway. “Wants me to come visit him sometime once he’s all settled.” 

“You really wanna ride all the way back to Potsdam for that clod?” 

“Arthur,” you hissed, sharp and under your breath. “He’s _not_ a clod. Sometimes you make ‘im look like a genius. And besides, you’re there every chance you get.” 

The mention of Potsdam made you sick. Not just because you knew Arthur still rode over to see Mary, but because of Douglas Tanner and his church. You were convinced it was something that would stick with you forever. You’ve been out of that town for a little over a month now, which you were glad for, but your dreams were still haunted by those beady eyes and the feeling of a slimy tongue on your neck. Lewes, a little town just east of the Louisiana state border, was much better suited for your tastes. It was quiet, but promising, and Dutch hadn’t any massive schemes about it and you were fine with that. There was nothing but wheat and fields for miles, it seemed. The heat and humidity damn near rivaled Texas. It was a wonder how any one could survive so far down south. 

Arthur grumbled under his breath and dug around his his pocket for a cigarette and match. He struck the stick along the side of his boot and lit the tobacco as it hung from his lips. You stayed seated as you watched the flex of his throat as he inhaled the smoke. 

“This ain’t ‘bout me,” he said, and a steam of smoke rolled through his nostrils. “Don’t matter. Anyways, I forgot to mention, you’ll wanna cover your face when we get to the farm.” 

“Alright,” you replied, with a nod. “You plan on gettin’ caught?” 

“No,” Arthur rumbled out as he pinched around his cigarette. “I don’t. You might.” 

You sighed, and stood up. Arthur’s face cracked into a wicked grin as you began walking away from him. He put both feet on the ground and watched as you went. 

“Eat shit, Arthur Morgan,” you said, only meaning it a little. 

He just laughed and finished his tobacco. 

* * *

Arthur met you by the horses after a supper around the fire. The sun was low in the sky, a pendulum of gold held still just over the horizon made of fields. Crickets chirped in the grass and night bugs screamed their songs into the evening air like opera. Sweat slicked your body as you nervously chewed your lip. 

“Got everythin’ you need?” Arthur asked. He was chewing another cigarette, a habit when bored or stressed. His voice was a low rumble among the shrill sounds of wildlife. He was colored in hues of honey. 

“I think so,” you replied. You reached out and planted a hand onto Moonshine’s neck for comfort. He nickered beside you. 

“Your gun’s ready ‘n loaded like I asked?” 

“I don’t need it. And you won’t need yours, neither.” 

“Sure,” Arthur said, stepping forward to put a hand on your shoulder, “I know your feelin’s on this, but there ain’t no guarantee that things are gonna go well. We could get caught, they could have guns, we could get shot at by them or another. There ain’t no tellin’. We plan for the worst, and hope for the best. And knowin’ that, I’m not gonna let you go nowhere without a gun of your own.” 

You swallowed air, absently reaching for that same old Colt revolver Dutch had given you years ago. You liked hunting, with a rifle and with a bow, but you didn’t like the idea of hunting a living person with a gun. You met Arthur’s eyes for a brief moment, then nodded. It made sense. 

“I got it,” you said. “It’s loaded.” 

“That’a girl,” he praised. Arthur patted your shoulder a few times before joining Black Beard’s side. Your face warmed, and not from the heat. You and Arthur mounted your horses and led them away from camp. 

When Arthur had explained the plan over venison and potatoes, Dutch was thoughtful and Hosea was supportive. Miss Grimshaw had little input, but did ask of you both to come back in one piece. Dutch laughed, clapped Arthur on the back, and said: “Our boy knows what he’s doing!” Arthur smiled. 

Everyone was proud of you, too. Hosea offered to come along, but you dismissed him no matter how bad you really wanted him there. You just kept on growing up, they told you, stay sharp and stay ready. Dutch helped tie on your bandana and kissed the top of your head, much to your surprise. And soon after, you were putting bullets in your revolver and waiting for Arthur. 

“You nervous?” Arthur asked. You broke the skinny tree line after him, and you steered onto the dusty path. You took a right and the setting sun was to your backs. 

“Yes,” you admitted, “I’m kinda scared.” 

“‘Bout what?” Arthur waited until you were next to him to start trotting. 

“Messin’ up. Gettin’ caught, or one of us gettin’ hurt, or that there’s really no money after all.” 

“Don’t you worry,” Arthur said, “we’ll make it out okay.” 

“You were just telling me we might not.” 

“I’m tryin’ to make ya feel better.” 

“You’re terrible at it.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Just- tell me the plan again, please.” 

“Alright,” Arthur began, “There’s two ways we can go about this. I can cause a scene and you find a way in, or we wait ‘til everyone’s asleep and we both search the house.” 

“I think I’d feel more at ease if you were right with me,” you replied. The butterflies hadn’t set in yet, but you were nervous. 

“That’s fine. I’ll be right there with you. It’ll be fast an’ easy.” 

“I hope you’re right,” you grumbled. It was more to yourself than him, your voice too quiet for him to hear you. _Please_ , you thought, _let this end all right_. 

* * *

It was almost dark by the time you and Arthur reached the Martin’s farm. The house was just about as you expected it to be. It was small, but had two stories, and the wooden paneling on the outside was grey with age. The windows were small and few, which you were thankful for. A big barn sat among the property’s fields and fences, with a neighboring stable housing a few animals. The orange in the sky had dissipated into a dark blue, the First light of stars had just begun to show through. 

The heat had faded some, but sweat was still rolling down your back. Arthur’s body was hot next to yours as you crouched in the brush. It was hard to find a good spot to hide in the light-colored wheat, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were on the verge of puking everything up out of fear. Your hands shook. It was hard to focus on calming your nerves down; thoughts of everything going wrong consumed you. 

Arthur, however, was calm and collected. His hands were still, eyes set forward and breaths were easy. You envied how composed he looked, and if he were nervous in the slightest, you would have never known. When he turned his attention towards you, you about choked. 

“Follow my lead,” he said, low and firm. “Put your bandana on.” 

You did as he said, and pulled the musty white cloth up over your face. It smelt like dust and Copper’s breath. Arthur hid his smile with his own mask. 

As he began moving through the fields, you followed. The wheat stalks parted around you and rustled quietly. Crickets raged on, but you could barely hear them over the pounding of your heart. Time seemed to slow as you neared the edge of the field. Arthur stepped out onto the yard behind the house and glanced at you over his shoulder. You gave him a silent nod, and he darted for the building. He pressed his back flat against the wall; you tumbled after him. 

“Listen for any sounds from inside,” he whispered. His voice was muffled by the ratty black cloth over his face. “And always check windows if you can. I need you to wait here for now, I’ll go around and look. Don’t. Move.” 

Again, you nodded and watched as he crept around the house. He kept his footsteps easy, his ear close to the wall, and eyes wide and alert. It was much life watching a wolf hunt. Arthur was always calculating, focused, and determined. He knew what he was doing, that much was clear, and it helped calm your fried nerves. You knelt down behind the house, and tried to ignore the throbbing of your pulse in your brain. It didn’t take but a few minutes for Arthur to finish his round. 

“Alright,” he whispered. He reached you and put a hand on your arm, an encouragement and comfort. With intense eyes, you looked back at him. “Everyone seems to be asleep. We have to be fast, and we have to be quiet. Check everywhere you can, take what you can get. I know where the money is.” 

“You gettin’ it or am I?” you asked. You hadn’t realized how dry your throat was until you spoke. 

“I am,” Arthur answered, and it sounded like he was smiling. “It’s upstairs. You stay on the bottom floor, and take what ya can, like I said. When I come back down, we’ll head out. Make sure you shut everything you open. And remember, quietly.” 

“Bottom floor. Take what I can. Close what I open. Got it,” you muttered. Arthur nodded and patted your shoulder before making his way to the back door. You followed, it only being a few feet away. It was unlocked, and opened easily without sound. Arthur disappeared into the darkness of the house, and soon, you were swallowed up by it too. 

The inside of the house was homey in a surprisingly bland way, from what you could tell. The door opened up into the kitchen, a round dining table in the middle of the room decorated sweetly with a little vase of half-wilted flowers. There were cabinets and a chest to search, everything stocked with bowls and cans from what it looked like. You kept crouched as you paced across the old wooden floor. It creaked in whispers, and you cringed at each step. Arthur’s touch nearly made you scream, but you pinched your lips shut tight. 

“Easy,” he whispered, so quiet you had to strain your ears to hear him. “I’m going up. Keep alert. You’ll do fine.” 

It did not feel like you would do fine. Arthur found the staircase and began climbing steps, and all you could think about was him stumbling down or getting caught by a bullet to the chest. You had to force yourself to look away, and you began your own search. 

In your moment of anxiety, you surveilled the rest of the house. Moonlight reached through the warped window panes and stretched across the floorboards. Everything was dreadfully quiet outside the sound of your blood rushing. Looking over the perfectly placed furnishing, you remembered your old house. The cabin, situated on the foothills of Colorado. You saw the ghost of your father praying at the dinner table, Warren helping Ivor read, and Percy dragging a little cast iron cat across the floor. You blinked the phantoms away, but the thought of robbing a family lingered. You were robbed once. Of everything. An aching feeling consumed you, and you snapped your eyes shut tight. 

_**“Why do this, Dutch?”** _

_**“Why do what, dear?” Dutch looked up at you, hands paused. A stack of cash was pinched between his fingers. In the warm sun, his cheeks were red but eyes were steady.** _

_**“Rob. Take. I know you didn’t make that money bein’ honest,” you said. Dutch laughed, and you sat beside him on a crate.** _

_**“Let me tell you something, Y/N,” he began. He put the money down and threw an arm around your shoulder. “There’s not one thing in this world that is free. And men, greedy, hungry bastards, those capitalist barbarians, take advantage of that. They are building a company fed by selfish ideas. They take what should be everyone’s, and cheat and lie just the same. Y/N, my darling, we are on the bottom of the food chain. Filth, scum, the lowest of lows- all seen the eyes of this modern society. But you and I are more than that. You know as well as I do. We rob, and take because it’s our justice, in the end. It’s the food in our mouths and clothes on our backs and our ticket to the Promised Land. It’s our way to freedom, dear. Our escape.”**_

Our escape. 

You opened your eyes again, and somehow nothing was the same. The house was all unopened drawers and hidden money, no longer a home or a place for ghosts. You needed something, proof to yourself, that you could do this. You wanted freedom and you wanted a life with your family how Dutch painted it. So, with newfound courage, you began shuffling through each cabinet and drawer, stuffing your pockets full. You made sure to close everything back up. 

You were about done with every little nook and cranny when you heard a loud thump from upstairs. Your blood went cold, and you whipped around to face the staircase just in time to see Arthur tumbling down, a box tucked beneath his arm. A loud shout made you jump and before you could blink, Arthur was running right at you. 

“Go!” he yelped. Before you could fully process what was going on, two loud gun shots sounded, and you just blinked up at the stairs. A man with a shotgun in his pajamas desperately reloaded it, and Arthur yanked you back by your suspenders. 

“What the fuck?!” Loose change slipped from your pockets as Arthur dragged you right out the back door where you entered. Everything was a blur, bullets whizzed passed your head and you had no time to process fear. You barely remembered how you fell into the dewy grass, or Arthur’s heavy body rolling over your own. 

“Get up! Dammit, come on! **Hurry!** Shit, fuck, fuck shit, god dammit!” 

Frantically, you clambered onto your feet. Arthur grabbed your wrist and barreled towards the wheat field, and you felt another bullet zoom passed your temple. You screamed, and Arthur looked back at you. If you weren’t being gunned down, you would have laughed at the look on his face. His bandana was dropped from all the tumbling, his mouth wide open. His eyes were wide with horror and his hair was flying every which way. You certainly looked no better, but that was the last thing on your mind. 

“Come back here you goddamn thieves! I’ll send ya right and straight to Hell, ya goddamn bloody, yella-belly, good-for-nothin’, dirty, cock-suckin’ low lives!” The man of the house was screeching from his door way, and fired off his gun again and again. Over the sound, Arthur whistled for the horses. A shrill squeal could barely be heard over the noises. 

Another bullet went by, and this time it nearly nicked Arthur in the arm. He shouted, a horrible sound, and threw himself onto the ground. He pulled you down with him, and you rolled down the hill in one big human knot. You could feel the hard tin box Arthur stole jab into your stomach. The wheat stalks flattened underneath you, the crickets went quiet in your wake. 

“Arthur!” You shrieked. 

_“Fuck!”_ is all he managed to say. You both yelped when you hit a tree, and you fell apart from each other. 

The sound of hooves had you both frantic. 

“Dammit!” you wheezed, “Arthur, help me up, I-” 

Before you could finish your sentence, he was already hoisting you up and onto the horse. For a second it was hard to tell what horse it was, but the familiar scream of Moonshine was loud and undeniable. You were panting as you gripped the reins. Bile was threatening to spill. 

Arthur whistled again. He squint into the darkness but found nothing. Black Beard was no where to be seen. So when another gunshot rang out, he cursed and threw himself up behind you. He pushed the tin box into your stomach, and yanked the leather lines from your hands. 

“I got this, Arthur,” you growled, “how about you hold on for once?” 

“You really gonna give me attitude while we’re bein’ shot at?!” he snapped back. He kicked Moonshine sharply in the sides, and your horse bolted forward. Moonshine tossed his head and grunted with each stride. 

You squealed as Arthur pulled the horse to make a sharp left turn across the path. You hugged the tin tight, and prepared to slip from the saddle. But Arthur quickly brought down an arm to pin you against him. You couldn’t see his face, but he was silent and pushed and _pushed_ until Moonshine was drooling and fighting the bit. 

“Alright,” Arthur said, quietly, “I think we’re in the clear.” 

You nearly fainted with relief. You slumped back against Arthur, and he chuckled. The sound vibrated against your spine and you sighed. All the tension of the moment began to unravel. 

“You alright there?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, “but I just about pissed myself. What the hell happened?” 

“Well, _uh_ , well- it wasn’t my fault, first of all. The money was hidden beneath the man’s bed, and his wife just about shit herself in ‘er sleep and woke ‘im up! He sits straight up and looks me dead in the eye so I grabbed the money and ran.” You could hear the embarrassment and irritation in his voice, and you couldn’t help but to bust out laughing. 

“Damn!” You wheezed, “we almost died ‘cause someone _farted!_ ” 

Arthur warmed up to a laugh, and the sound was beautiful, but short. He shifted behind you, thumbs giving slack to the reins. Your smile stuck. 

“It’s hard to believe. Bet she won’t be needin’ a trip to the outhouse after all that commotion. But see how much we got, will ya? Can ya see?” Arthur asked. 

“Sure. I think I can, just enough moonlight out here.” As you pried open the black metal box, you noticed your hands were still shaking. You huffed out a dry laugh. A few stacks of cash spilled out and your took them up and began to count. 

“Any good?” Arthur mumbled out. 

“I don’t think their uncle had as much money as you were told.” 

“Huh? Let me see.” 

“There’s only about three, maybe four hundred here,” you said. You passed the tin over to him, and he quickly counted it before giving it back. 

“Aw, shit,” he sighed. “I was expecting more- but that’s still a lot of money. Food for a few months and maybe we’ll be set for winter.” 

“It’s only August,” you dumbly said, blinking into the dark as Arthur nudged Moonshine on. 

“It comes faster than you think. It’s good to plan ahead.” 

“I suppose,” you muttered. A sudden thought rushed to your head. “Say, Arthur, we ever gonna do that again?” 

“What, rob somebody or get shot at? ‘Cause I can guarantee that ain’t the last time either is happenin’.” 

“...It was sorta fun.” 

“Mm, in a way, yes. Ain’t the risk of death thrilling?” 

“Sure,” you said, sweet with laughter and the high of post-adrenaline rush. “Really ain’t nothing like it.” 

And Arthur rode on home, you bouncing in the saddle as the earth spun beneath Moonshine’s feet. _It’ll always be alright,_ you thought, _as long as you head Arthur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a light hearted chapter! Thanks everyone for sticking with me and reading. I love you, have a good day/night, week, month, life!! You deserve it


	32. A Thorn to a Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea decides to finally share a part of him. Unfortunately, so does Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update! *nervous sweating*  
> I sincerely apologize for the slow updates. I still love writing this and will continue it don’t worry. Thank you for all your patience and support. You guys are so awesome, please enjoy!

_*Sept. 3, 1882*_

The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg and painted heavily with thick white clouds. They moved like bison across the vast blue plane, and you squinted at them through the brightness of the day as you lied down on the your back in the dry grass. The easy breeze blew over, pushing your loose hair across your face. 

“I wish there was some invention that made the sun go away. Spectacles that made the sun not so bright,” you said. You closed your aching eyes, and focused on the feeling of wind rolling over your bare skin. 

Arthur huffed, and the smell of cigarettes reached your nose. He was sitting beside you, legs crossed and his journal in his lap. You could barely hear the scrawl of his pencil. 

“Stare at it long enough and it won’t be an issue no more,” he grumbled. You smiled. 

“Then I’d go blind.” 

“Well ain’t that the point? And if you’re starin’ right at the sun you shouldn’t have any eyes to be begin with. Eyes, or a brain,” he said. 

Smile still in tact, you sat up and brushed your hair behind your ear. Arthur looked at you from the corner of his eye, puffing on his cigarette. His face softened at the sight of your smile. He chuckled, and plucked the stick of tobacco from between his lips. 

“You’re pleasant,” you teased. You pulled your knees to your chest, and hugged them. You sighed softly, and watched as Arthur pinned the pages of his journal down so they wouldn’t fly away. 

“You’re stupid.” 

You shrieked, mouth popped open in overdramatic surprise. You unraveled yourself, and lunged at Arthur with a splayed hand. He laughed, and pulled away before you could hit him. You tumbled forward into the grass, body falling against his leg. Arthur looked down at you with a warm grin, and you felt a blush warming your face. 

His eyes looked almost green from this angle. The afternoon sun made him glow, and his face was lit up kindly. A stray hair was hanging out from his hat, and you reached up to push it over his ear. His smile twitched. 

“I’m _not_ stupid,” you mumbled, fingers brushing over the stubble in his jaw. 

“Right,” Arthur huffed, “you’re another kinda smart.” 

You grinned and dropped your hand. “Exactly.” 

Arthur picked up his pencil again and resumed his drawing. You listened to the soft scratching of charcoal against paper as you closed your eyes against the sky. It felt good to be beside him like this, without tension or anger or a man shooting at you with a double barreled shotgun. You sighed into the wind, and curled your fingers into the long, half-dead grass. The embrace of sleep came slowly. 

Copper’s barking made you both stir. 

You opened your eyes to see Arthur staring back at you. His lips were pressed into a flat line and his brows were creased. The edges of his face seemed hard, and for the brief moment he was looking at you, you grew worried. When he lifted his head, you sat up and put a hand on his arm. 

“What was that look for?” you asked. 

“Jus’ seein’ if you were awake,” he replied. Arthur folded up his battered journal and pencil, and put it back in his satchel. His eyes scanned over the hill you were both sitting on, and like a hawk, his focus zeroed in on something you couldn’t see. 

“What’s going on?” you asked again, your voice hushed and quick. 

“Someone’s here,” he said. Your blood went cold. 

“Who?” 

“I’m not-” 

“Arthur! Y/N!” 

The sound of Hosea’s voice had you both in your feet. You followed Arthur up the hill, a constant half-step away from him. Nervously, you peered out from behind his broad frame. Over the peak, the familiar sight of camp formed. Hosea waved you over from his place the fire. A woman you had never once seen before stood beside him. 

Arthur, instinctually, reached for your arm when you arrived to camp. His fingers were rough and warm against the soft underside of your wrist. Your breath hitched and you leaned towards him. Hosea’s eyes caught the movement, and he put a hard hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry you two, she’s- she’s one of us now,” he said. Hosea’s mouth was curved into a bright, genuine smile and there was a glow about his face. His voice was light and chipper. “This is Bessie. She’s, well, the woman I’ve been talking about.” 

_Bessie._ Your eyes snapped to hers. You’ve heard her name before, noticed the fondness in it when it sounded off Hosea’s tongue. You’ve heard Dutch joke about it, heard mentions of her. A giddy emotion tinkered around in your stomach. 

“Hello,” she said, “it’s lovely to finally meet the both of you.” 

Bessie spoke quickly and fluently. She had a subtle eastern-shore accent, words firm despite their pace. She had a full head of dark, curly brown hair that was pinned up in a bun that would have pissed Grimshaw off. Bessie had a strong jaw for a woman, and thin lips and flat chin. Her skin was patterned with faint freckles that seemed to shine like flecks of gold in the sun. What was most certainly alluring among her rather plain looking face was her eyes. They were round and big, long eyelashes lining them like the soft plumes of ostrich feathers. They sparkled and glistened, held a certain wisdom to them and strength. She reached out her hand and Arthur shook it. 

“We’ve heard plenty about you,” he said. His voice was a low rumble that you sought refuge in. 

“Nothing foul I’d hope,” Bessie replied. She gathered her hands at her belt buckle politely, fingers clasped together but her posture was nothing short of confident. You blinked, impressed by how such a strong-looking woman was swept off her feet by Hosea Matthews. 

“Of course not,” said a sudden, familiar voice. From behind you, Dutch planted a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him to see him wearing a broad smile. There was a twinkle in his eye and a jovial lilt to his voice. You wondered if he was jealous at all. “Hosea has not once said one bad thing about you. I don’t think he ever will, considering what a fine lady he’s picked for himself.” 

“You flatter me,” she said, “but I must assure you, _I_ picked _him_.” 

Hosea laughed loudly. “It really seems that way, doesn’t it?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“I knew you were going to make the first move.” 

“Oh, how you lie!” Bessie laughed, too, good and hard and it was a pretty sound. Without realizing, you began to smile as well. Eyes fleeting to Arthur, you noticed his face was no longer heavy with suspicion. His lips were turned lightly upward. 

“That’s his gift, you know,” Dutch teased. Bessie looked to him. 

“Sure,” she replied, “but I can see right through all of it. He tried to tell me he was an entrepreneur when we first spoke and I immediately knew it was bullshit.” 

You startled at her swearing. Arthur chuckled. 

“You must be the only one who can,” Arthur said. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot. “He’s got one hell of a silver tongue. I’ve known him almost four, five years now and sometimes I still can’t tell when he’s tellin’ the truth.” 

“Well, son, I don’t fluster at your... _brutish_ charm.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Let’s not fight in front of the ladies, gentleman,” Dutch cooed. 

“No, I’d very much like to see,” Bessie said. Her face was serious for a moment, but it broke into a sweet smile again and she giggled. 

“Stick around long enough, and you will,” Arthur said. 

At that, Bessie, Hosea, and Dutch all exchanged glances and the mood shifted from _happy_ to something weightier. You looked from face to face trying to pick up on why. Dutch’s hand left your shoulder, and he stepped through the small space between you and Arthur to stand beside his best friend. 

“Well,” Hosea began, a hesitant mumble, “that’s something I wanted to talk about.” 

Arthur perked up. Bessie shifted closer to Hosea. 

“Bessie and I... Bessie and I are together now, and she... she’s gonna ride with us now,” Hosea resumed. “I know you’ve only just met but, she’s to be trusted and I... I hold her very dear to me, and it’s only right she stay alongside with my family.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Hosea wasn’t always very affectionate, not in the same way Dutch was, and to hear him call you family managed to make you feel warm every time. 

“It’s such short notice, I know,” Bessie said, quick but not nervously, “but I’d like you all to know that I know who you are. What you do. And while I... I’m not so certain I’d call myself a criminal, or an outlaw, but I’ve... Hosea has changed my life in impossible ways within the short amount of time I have known him. Where I came from was hard, and I’m no stranger to work, and I promise you I’m not dead weight or a woman who sits and waits for things to get done. This is something I want, I assure you. You can hold me to it.” 

Her eyes flickered from Hosea, to Dutch, to Arthur, to you. When your eyes met, it felt like lightning had come down and struck you. Another woman in camp. No more just you and Miss Grimshaw patching up laundry, or doing dishes. No more constant nagging. You’d have another woman to teach you things, to tell you about life and the world. Goosebumps rose on your skin and you smiled. Bessie grinned back, and you knew you liked her from that moment on. 

“Alright,” Arthur said, “welcome home.” 

Bessie nodded. She wiped her palms on her corduroy riding pants, and lifted her chin as she sucked in a breath. Hosea gently caught her elbow. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Now that’s out of the way- would anyone like to play a game of dominos?” 

* * *

Evening came quick and so did the feeling of reunion. Despite never meeting Bessie before in your life, she felt like family. She was full of stories about work and her younger years living in the poor side of Boston. Her jokes were sharp, but she was quick to soothe over any sour jab with sweet words. The longer you sat around her, the more you realized how well she and Hosea fit. 

“This has been the most fun I’ve had in years,” Bessie said after a moment of satisfied silence. Everyone was seated around the fire, faces and bodies lit up in orange and yellow and red. There was a smile stuck to her face, the same one she’d been wearing all night. Hosea was sitting close to her on her left, staring at her with adoration in his eyes. 

“More fun to come yet,” Dutch replied. His voice was warm with booze and his cheeks were rosy. There must have been love in the air, because Susan was holding his arm and not one ill statement was shared between them. “I think you’ll fit in just fine with us.” 

“I think so too,” Bessie said. Her tone went soft and her eyes glanced to yours. “Never in my life did I once think this is where I’d end up.” 

“Where did you think you would?” Arthur asked. He was sucking his spoon, an empty pan on his lap. For such a brutish man, he looked childish in the moment and your heart fluttered. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she began, “I thought maybe I’d be stuck working as a house maid until I died. Either that, or living by my lonesome in someplace like... Ohio.” 

“You been to _Ohio?_ ” 

“Once,” Bessie answered. “Coming down from Massachusetts, my sister and I stopped in a city called Youngstown. It was... nothing spectacular, but Ohio is...-” 

“Plain,” Hosea said. Bessie nodded. 

“Yes, _plain._ My sister Katherine stayed, however. Found work as a seamstress. I wasn’t looking to live there, so I kept moving. A part of me always wish I stayed, I don’t get letters from her anymore.” 

“Is she dead?” 

_“Arthur,”_ Susan sharply chided. 

“It’s fine,” Bessie cooed. “I’m not entirely certain. I don’t believe she’s dead, the news would have made it to me somehow. That, or a feeling. Maybe she just got busy.” 

“Busy is the way to be,” Dutch said. He leaned forward in his seat and you could see the passion stir within his onyx eyes. “You sit still for one second and you might lose too much.” 

“We’re sitting still now, aren’t we?” Bessie raised a brow at the man. Dutch chuckled. 

“Sure, in a way, we are. But the American Dream-” 

“Save the speeches for later, Dutch,” Hosea interrupted. The older man stood up and stretched, and the slope of his shoulders fell in a heavy, but relaxed, way. The happiness of Bessie’s smile reflected in his hazel eyes. She grabbed his hand and rose to her feet. 

“Are you excusing yourself, Hosea?” Dutch asked. The passionate fire in his face faded, and you were surprised that he didn’t argue with Hosea about keeping quiet. Dutch pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket but kept it held in his hand. 

“Yes,” Hosea answered. “It’s been quite an eventful night, which I must thank you all for. Nothing means more to me than... than _this,_ and now that Bessie is here, well... I couldn’t be happier.” 

You watched with wholesome excitement in your chest as Hosea stood beside his new girl in the light of the fire. His eyes went glossy, and he kept blinking back tears. Bessie slipped her fingers between his and for a moment, you wanted to cry, too. 

“You deserve it,” Arthur said. It surprised you; he was smiling faintly. 

“Thank you, dear boy,” Hosea replied. You’d never seen the man look so emotional. “I- thank you.” 

“I think he’s had enough for the night,” Susan announced. She left Dutch’s side and stumbled to her feet. She’d been drinking and laughing all night, neither complaining or arguing. Her face was red as she began picking up dropped bottles and empty pans. “All of you have. Let’s leave them to bed, or you will all be sorry tomorrow.” 

Bessie regarded Susan with a warm look, and the women seemed to share a quiet thankfulness. Another woman in camp, you thought again, how grateful Miss Grimshaw must be. You secretly looked forward to spending more time with the both of them together. 

“Goodnight everyone,” Hosea said. Bessie did the same, and they disappeared into the dark ring outside the camp fire. 

Everyone was quiet then. The fire was warm and bright, like the feeling that settled in your stomach. One by one, people left the flames to die out on their own. Arthur invited you away with a subtle look, and you nodded. 

* * *

“You were quiet,” Arthur said. “Don’t think you said a word all night.” 

The two of you were slowly walking back to your little tent. Arthur nursed another cigarette as he took easy, languid strides. One hand dangled from his hip, thumb hooked into a belt loop on his jeans. You sighed. 

“Yes, I suppose I was,” you replied. You watched your feet as you walked. “Guess I didn’t have too much to say. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.” 

“Did you not hear what Hosea said?” 

“I did, I just-” 

“Think too much.” 

You snapped your head up to look at him. “No, I don’t.” 

“Sure. Hosea- Hosea lo-... Hosea _likes_ you, ya know. You didn’t have to sit there moping like ya did.” 

“Arthur! I was _not_ moping, asshole!” 

Arthur laughed, smoke puffing out his mouth like a chimney. He coughed into the crook of his elbow before dropping his cigarette and squelching the butt with his foot. He was smiling when he pulled his arm away. 

“I know,” he said. “You were smilin’ the entire time.” 

“You’re an asshole,” you grumbled. You turned away from him to hide your smile, but Arthur chuckled and brought you back to him with a touch to your shoulder. His hand slid to your wrist and you blushed. 

“You gonna tell me a third time?” he teased. There was a playful glint in his eye, and you had to pause to admire the mirth in his expression. “I think I need to, about a dozen times more,” You quipped. He shook his head and let go of you, and silence settled in. It reminded you that you’d arrived at your tent already. The sight of it made your bones feel suddenly heavy. 

“Yes,” Arthur sighed, his voice easy and warm, “you sure were smilin’. It was... real nice to see.” 

“Don’t get too attached. Can’t smile too often when you’re such a thorn in my side.” 

“You can pretend you enjoy my company,” he joked. 

“I don’t have to pretend,” you answered. You flushed and your tongue tasted honey. “I do enjoy your company.” 

He only scoffed and looked away awkwardly. Arthur cleared his throat as he pawed at the back of his neck. A cool wind swept through. 

“What d’ya think of Bessie?” he asked. His voice was clipped and embarrassed. 

“I like her,” you replied honestly. The nervousness that rolled off of Arthur put you on edge; he was hardly ever like this. “It’ll be nice to have another woman around camp. Maybe it’ll make the chores go by faster. And it’s good to see Hosea look so happy. He’d been talking about her so much.” 

Arthur nodded. “It’ll be good for him.” 

The uncomfortable silence that followed festered like boiling water. Arthur made no move to leave, and you could tell by the way he worked his jaw he had something more to say. You timidly toyed with your skirt. 

“What do you think?” you asked. You wanted him to say more. 

“She’s a strong woman from what I can tell. She’ll be good for us.” Arthur pinched his lips shut tight after he fell silent. Tension began to visibly build in his shoulders and you snapped. 

“What is it you have to tell me?” 

Arthur’s head snapped up, eyes wide like he was surprised. He blinked at you dumbly, mouth agape. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re about to say something. I can tell. Just say it, Arthur.” 

Arthur froze for a moment. He sucked on his bottom lip as he considered his next words or movement, then slowly reached into his pocket. He kept his hand in a fist, and you half expected him to hand you something until he sighed heavily. 

“Y/N... I...” he opened his hand. His fingers uncurled to reveal a small ring of silver. A petite diamond glimmered in the moonlight, and you could only stare as your blood stopped flowing and your heart skipped a beat. 

“I want...” Arthur fumbled. “I got this for Mary.” 

Fire ran through you like your veins pumped moonshine. Your stomach churned and stung as if you swallowed poison and tears shot to your eyes. You blinked rapidly, willing them away. You couldn’t look away from the sparkling jewel. 

“Why?” You asked. Your face felt numb. 

“I- I want to marry her.” 

His face was serious. There was no joke, no lie, no myth to be found in his eyes or his voice. Arthur stared back at you, unmoving, as he waited for a response. Your heart dropped to the ground. 

“ _Why?_ ” You whispered, again. A tear slipped, and you wiped at it frantically. 

“I... l-... I love her,” he answered. He hesitated, and clutched the ring like it would give him affirmation or a definite answer. Arthur’s brows met in a fine line as he spoke. “She’s... she’s so good to me, Y/N. When Hosea talks about Bessie, I- I get to thinkin’ and I-... I want that. Mary, she gives me that. I can’t throw that away. He’s so happy, Y/N. _I want that._ ” 

“You know how I feel about her, Arthur.” Your voice came out fast, and hard, and cold. Arthur flinched at every word like you were hurling rocks at him. His face fell rapidly. 

“Y/N-” 

“Do what you want,” you spat, stepping backwards. “Go and be happy. I don’t give a shit!” 

Hot tears began pouring down your cheeks and Arthur reached for your arm. You jerked out of his reach, and dove through the canvas flaps of your tent. 

You dropped down into the darkness, and cried until you couldn’t breathe and your head throbbed. 

You’d almost forgotten about Mary. The long, sudden trips away made sense now. He was still seeing her. Every minute spent with her was that much longer apart from you and he wanted it that way. As you sobbed and whined into the bed of your cot, you cursed Hosea. You cursed Dutch, Bessie, and even Miss Grimshaw. But most of all, you cursed Arthur. 

He was rose, the most beautiful rose in the garden. But he gave you nothing but thorns.


End file.
